The House Wilson Radiology Betting Pool
by hwshipper
Summary: House Wilson established relationship, hospital gossip, betting pools. Includes characters from season 4. I thought I'd finished this a while back, but two additional chapters & a prologue are now up!
1. Prologue

**Title**: The Most Eligible Man in Princeton Plainsboro  
**Author:** hwshipper  
**Prompt:** enbfest prompt: Evil Nurse Brenda meets Wilson for the first time.  
**Disclaimer**: All characters belong to Heel and Toe Films, Shore Z Productions and Bad Hat Harry Productions in association with Universal Media Studios.  
**Summary: **Nurse Brenda's the new girl at PPTH. She's already got the crankiest doctor in the hospital as her patient. What will she make of his best friend?

**Beta:** the ever-wonderful bornbeautiful  
**A/N:** Written last, but actually a prequel or prologue to the whole House Wilson Radiology Betting Pool series.

**The Most Eligible Man in Princeton Plainsboro**

"Dr. Wilson's back!" The rumor raced around the nurses' locker room. Brenda Previn perked her ears up.

"I've never met Dr. Wilson," Brenda remarked to the nurse standing next to her. "He's been away at that secondment in Stanford the whole time since I started working here."

"You've never met Dr. Wilson? Oh, you're in for a treat," her neighbor exclaimed. "He's so cute."

"Really?" That sounded promising. Brenda had been working at Princeton Plainsboro for a couple of months now and had already concluded that there was a severe shortage of cute doctors around. "How come he's back already? I thought he had a few more months to go."

"He does," another nurse chipped in. "He'll have come back early to see House. They're best friends, you know."

"Ah." This was good; Brenda was stationed on the corridor where House was a patient. She'd get to see Dr. Wilson without having to manufacture an excuse to be there. She turned to address a nurse putting on a coat, going off-duty. "Any change on House today?"

"No, just the same," the nurse in the coat said. "But Stacy was in this morning. They had another blazing row and she left in tears."

There were murmurings of _oh dear, not again_, at this. Since House had woke up after his second operation, he and Stacy had not been getting along.

Brenda arrived at House's room to join a small cluster of nurses that had gathered outside. Another nurse left House's room and came up to the gaggle.

"I left the blinds open just a crack," she said proudly. They could just barely see inside the room. House was asleep but shifting around restlessly. He had been like this pretty much constantly for the last few days.

Then came the distinctive clack of Cuddy's heels echoing down the corridor. The nurses scattered, each trying to look busy, none moving very far. Cuddy and Wilson rounded the corner and came into view.

Brenda glanced up from a random chart she'd grabbed. _Whoa._ The word on the street was right, for once. Dr. Wilson _was_ cute. His floppy hair was in disarray, his forehead was wrinkled with worry lines and his big brown eyes were ringed with fatigue; but he had just come straight from the airport after a three thousand mile trip, after all. She wouldn't have known he was a doctor if she hadn't been told who he was; no white coat, no stethoscope. He was wearing jeans, which fit snugly, and a sweatshirt, which hung too large and baggy on him.

"Dr. Wilson in casual clothes. Just kill me now," the nurse standing next to Brenda whispered.

Cuddy and Wilson went straight into House's room. The gaggle of nurses craned their necks to peer into the room. Wilson had grabbed the chart at the end of the bed and was reading it rapidly, firing questions at Cuddy. Cuddy stood with her arms folded, answering him. After a few minutes Cuddy glanced up, then she stepped towards the window and tweaked the blinds shut. The nurses sighed in unison.

"Well," someone said. "How about him, Brenda?"

"He single?" Brenda asked, affecting a deliberately casual air.

"Divorced. Twice, people say," a nurse was quick to inform.

"He was dating one of the ER nurses a while back, but that ended before he went off to Stanford," someone else contributed.

The conversation was interrupted by Cuddy leaving the room and shutting the door firmly behind her. She glared at the nurses and demanded, "Haven't any of you got work to do?"

They scattered hastily.

Brenda lingered; she was on duty here, after all. She figured give it five minutes and she could go check on the IV. Four minutes and fifty-nine seconds later, she went into House's room. House was still in the same state of shallow useless sleep, tossing and turning. Wilson was sitting by the bed, not touching House, just looking at him, eyes not wavering from House's face. She couldn't read his expression.

"Sorry to disturb you, just checking--" she began.

"I'll let you know if he needs anything," Wilson interrupted politely but firmly. He then looked at her, and spoke apologetically.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. I'm a doctor here." He looked at her a little more closely. "I don't think we've met?"

"No, I'm new," Brenda explained. "Brenda Previn."

"James Wilson. Pleased to meet you." They shook hands. His grip was firm. He went on, "I work in oncology. I've been away on secondment, just flew in this morning from Stanford." He hesitated. "House is a friend of mine. I'll probably be here for a while."

"Just give me a shout if you need anything," Brenda said, and backed out of the room. She was impressed. He wasn't just cute, he was _nice_.

There had to be something wrong with him.

* * *

Over the next couple of weeks Brenda made it her business to do lunch with two people she hadn't met properly before. She introduced herself just as she was: the inquisitive new nurse with the unenviable job of looking after one of the most notoriously difficult doctors in the hospital (she hadn't appreciated it initially, but there was a reason why she--the new girl--had ended up with _him_); who was now intrigued by the sudden arrival of the best friend on the scene.

First up was Nora, oncology department secretary. Brenda had met her before, but not had a proper conversation with her. Nora was a matronly woman of mature years, obviously not one to gossip, but keen to hear any news on how House was doing. Brenda was able to tell her that since Wilson's arrival House had started sleeping properly at last, and was consequently starting to improve. Cuddy was finally able to start easing back on the morphine, which was a relief to everyone.

In return, Brenda asked all about Wilson. Nora had nothing but praise and loyalty for Wilson.

"My husband is a patient of his," Nora explained, a trifle hesitantly. "So I get to see him from both sides. He's an excellent doctor and an exemplary professional colleague." She paused, and continued, "Dr. Collins will be retiring as head of oncology in a couple of years time... I think Dr. Wilson has as much chance as anyone of succeeding him."

"Surely he's way too young for that?" Brenda said skeptically. She dunked a cookie into her coffee.

"He certainly would be," Nora agreed. "But he's a favorite of Dr. Cuddy's, too, you know. It was her decision to send him to Stanford, get him experience and contacts elsewhere without actually losing him to this hospital." She blushed suddenly. "I shouldn't have said that. That was very indiscreet of me."

"I am the soul of discretion," Brenda assured Nora.

* * *

The second person Brenda did lunch with was Wilson's last girlfriend at Princeton Plainsboro, an ER nurse named Rita. It transpired they'd dated for several months, but had started drifting apart before Wilson had been posted to Stanford, and the secondment had formed a convenient reason for them to part company. Their split had been very amicable and Rita was happy to chat about him.

"How did you two get together?" Brenda asked, munching a club sandwich.

"It sounds really silly," Rita said with a laugh. "I live with my mother, and she has a few health problems so I'm her caretaker, really. She was going through a bad patch and I was having a hard time. I was feeling really down one day when I bumped into James--Dr. Wilson, and he noticed I was upset, took me off and bought me coffee, made me talk about it, it helped a lot. And we kind of started seeing each other on the back of that. He's a very supportive man, you know. Very kind, very sensitive. Really helpful with Mom."

She paused; picking at her salad, then went on.

"After a couple of months Mom was on the mend again, which was great. But he didn't seem to be around so much, and by now I was in a better place myself, and by the end we just weren't even meeting very often. When the Stanford thing came through, there was just no point carrying on. I was a bit sorry about it, but mainly--" her voice dropped conspiratorially--"for the sex."

Caught by surprise, Brenda spluttered out a piece of bacon. "Uh, sorry. You were saying? ..."

"Everything you hear about him being good in the sack is true," Rita declared, but wouldn't be drawn any more.

* * *

So Brenda had learned that Dr. Wilson wasn't just handsome and nice. He was kind, sensitive, highly regarded by staff and patients, good at his job, had excellent promotion prospects, and to cap it all, he was good in bed. _Wow_. He had to be the most eligible man working at Princeton Plainsboro.

A natural pessimist, Brenda was sure there had to be a downside to this somewhere. She just hadn't found it yet.

In the meantime, she began to consider how to get a date out of him. She had too much dignity to flirt as obviously as some of the other nurses did, and in any case she could see he was used to this and knew how to deal with it. Always charming in return, but never actually rising to the bait. Instead, she made an effort to be around when Wilson was visiting House, which was often, and found that Wilson noticed efficiency and appreciated it. Unlike many doctors (such as House), Wilson also made a point of remembering names. He greeted her punctiliously initially as 'Nurse Previn,' and then, at her suggestion, as Brenda.

She looked into House's room one day when she was worried and stressed; it had been a long shift, now mercifully at an end. And she'd had a really difficult meeting at her daughter's school that morning; they were worried about her daughter's behavior, talking about possible suspension.

House was snoozing. Wilson was sitting reading a medical journal. He looked at her, expressed concern at how tired she looked, and asked if she was okay.

She was about to say _everything's fine_. Having a daughter was not normally a helpful factor to mention when talking to an eligible man. But then she remembered Rita's sick mother, and on impulse, she took a punt on a different approach.

"Oh--it's my daughter. She's going through a difficult phase. I'm a single mom, you know, it's very hard to cope with it all sometimes."

Wilson looked sympathetic. "I'm sorry to hear that." He glanced at his watch. "Would you like to go get a coffee or something, if you can take a break? You can tell me all about it."

Brenda quashed the urge to shout _BINGO!_ and instead said casually, "I'm just going off-shift, actually, so that would be nice. If you're sure you don't mind?"

"Of course not," Wilson said, standing up and stretching, and she moved to finish what she was doing. Wilson headed out of the room, and she followed.

She realized as she stepped out of the door that she'd left a chart on the table, and turned around to get it. An unmistakable beady blue eye was staring at her.

She stared back, unblinking, then shut the door behind her.

Over coffee, she found another merit to add to Wilson's list; he was a good listener. A perfect listener, actually. He hit just the right balance of looking interested and periodically making sympathetic remarks. She found herself warming up, smiling a little, telling him more about her daughter's problems at school than she meant to.

And then, just as she had started to think about ways to get a dinner invite out of him, they were interrupted by a loud BEEP; Wilson's pager. He whisked it out, and Brenda saw him go pale.

"House," he said abruptly, and was up and out of the cafeteria faster than Brenda would have thought possible. She abandoned her dregs of coffee to follow. She might be off-duty now, but House was one of her patients, after all.

She arrived at House's room to find House sitting up in bed with wide eyes, a couple of nurses standing by looking uncertain what to do, and Wilson standing reading a print-out with a huge worried crease across his forehead.

"...felt my heart rate just start to soar, so I hit the panic button," House was finishing a sentence. "I don't know why. Didn't feel like there was anything to cause it."

"Well, _something_ happened, your heart really started pumping really hard all of a sudden." Wilson turned the print-out towards House and pointed at a sharp peak on the graph. "But only briefly; it's practically normal now. Are you sure nothing happened? Didn't you feel anything? No pain in the leg?"

"Of course I've got pain in the leg. Muscle death will do that," House said, with some acerbity. "But it's no worse than the usual fucking unbearable pain every damn day."

"We'll have to keep a closer eye out for possible triggers." Wilson looked at the print-out again, then sat down next to House's bed. "Were you going to sleep, perhaps?..."

House shook his head, and Wilson continued to question, covering the possibilities. Brenda stood in the door listening. The other nurses drifted away, crisis over.

And then briefly, only very briefly, House glanced at Brenda, and in that moment she _knew_. House had faked that heart rate, faked it to set off that alarm. She didn't know how he'd done it--given himself a shock somehow, jabbed himself with a needle, perhaps--but House had deliberately sabotaged her coffee with Wilson.

She knew House was sick, lonely, bored, angry, aggressive and obsessive; but even so--her mind boggled.

She left the room quietly. Wilson hadn't even noticed she was there.

* * *

Brenda decided to do lunch with Nora again. Like last time, Nora was willing to chat in order to hear about House's progress. Brenda was able to tell Nora that House was doing much better. They now thought it very likely that he would walk again, although he would require many months of physical therapy. The physical therapists at Princeton Plainsboro were all competing to try and avoid House becoming their patient.

This time Brenda didn't just ask Nora about Wilson, she asked about House and Wilson, remarking that she was impressed by the amount of time Wilson put into seeing House.

"They must be really good friends?" she asked.

Nora was a little circumspect and Brenda got the impression she was being discreet. Yes, House and Wilson were best friends, had been for a long time. The two of them and Stacy had hung out together a lot before Wilson had been sent off to Stanford.

"How long have they known each other?" Brenda was curious.

Nora hesitated. "Well, I don't know. But before either of them came to work here."

"Really?" Brenda didn't think that was common knowledge. People tended to assume House and Wilson had become friends at the hospital.

"Oh yes," Nora explained, a trifle diffidently. "House was working at Princeton Hospital down the road when Wilson came to work here. He used to drop by to see both Wilson and Stacy. Then House got fired from there, as everyone knows, and Dr. Cuddy offered him the Infectious Diseases job here, so they all ended up in the same place."

Interesting.

"How is Stacy, by the way?" Nora asked, clearly deciding she had said enough.

Brenda shook her head and told Nora how House was refusing even to speak to Stacy right now. Wilson was trying to reconcile them, but without much success. Nora expressed sorrow at this news.

* * *

Brenda had a healthy sense of self-preservation, and after mulling over her chat with Nora, Brenda's eventual conclusion was that she should cool off here. House had faked a racing heart rate to interrupt her coffee. God only knew what he might do if she managed a dinner invitation, let alone anything more.

And she just couldn't afford to have a relationship at work go bad on her, not right now. She was new, still on probation, couldn't risk losing her job. Needed the money, for the sake of her daughter. Brenda was also ambitious and knew she could go far at Princeton Plainboro if she kept her head down and worked hard, and if she wasn't under the shadow of a possible disastrous relationship with one of the doctors.

So she backed off. She was still perfectly friendly to Dr. Wilson, and was sure he didn't notice any change in her behavior.

The same was not true of Dr. House, who noticed everything. House said to her one day as she was plumping his pillow, "You're not interested in fucking Wilson any more?"

Brenda felt a twinge of irritation, but tried not to rise to his tone. She diagnosed boredom. You didn't need to be a diagnostic specialist to see that House was immobile and frustrated, and didn't have enough going on around him to exercise his brain. Sometimes he just poked at people, as if with a sharp stick.

"I never was," she replied briskly.

"Balls. Everybody's interested in Wilson," House continued to poke. "It's not like he's getting any anywhere right now. Catch him at the right moment and you could bang him in a broom cupboard, no problem."

She smiled through clenched teeth.

"Play your cards right with your difficult daughter, and you might even get a date," House continued.

Now _that_ was too much. The fucking cheek of him.

Brenda leaned over and said to House in a low voice, "I've got more common sense than to go screwing around with your long-term fuckbuddy."

She expected House to be surprised, insulted, or laugh at her. Instead, just for an instant, she saw a flash of shock in House's blue eyes. It was swiftly replaced with feigned indifference, but not quickly enough. Brenda knew she'd inadvertently hit on something; there was some truth somewhere in what she'd said.

And House wasn't sure if she'd been kidding or not. She left him hanging. Give him something to think about while he was festering in bed.

As it turned out, he never mentioned Wilson to her again; Brenda liked to think he didn't dare.

"Hi," said Brenda to the Radiology secretary, putting a 20 bill down on the desk. "I'm Brenda Previn. I'm here about the betting pool?"

"Sure," said the secretary, and handed over a book. "Don't think we've met, are you new?"

"Yeah, I've been working here a bit more than six months now." Brenda flipped through the book, mused for a few moments, then picked a date and wrote her name and 20 next to it.

The secretary glanced at it and raised her eyebrows. "You've gone very early."

"Just a guess," Brenda said carelessly. She closed the book and handed it back to the secretary.

Brenda noticed the title on the cover as she did so, and smiled at it: The House/Wilson First Fuck Radiology Betting Pool.

END

A/N: The story of House's infarction is told from Nora's POV in Memoirs of an Oncology Department Secretary - chapter 2: link from my username


	2. The Radiology Betting Pool

**TITLE: ****The **_House/Wilson First Fuck _Radiology Betting Pool  
**AUTHOR:** hwshipper  
**DISCLAIMER**: All characters belong to Heel and Toe Films, Shore Z Productions and Bad Hat Harry Productions in association with Universal Media Studios.  
**SUMMARY**: House/Wilson, hospital gossip, sex. Oh yes, and the bet belongs to Evil Nurse Brenda.  
**BETA**: Can't thank bornbeautiful enough.

**The **_**House/Wilson First Fuck **_**Radiology Betting Pool **

House and Wilson had known for years that there was a betting pool about them, which the Radiology department ran. They only learned the details by chance.

Wilson had finished his clinic duty early and was leaning against the nurses' station while filling out some paperwork for his shift. He was standing at the back, head down, leaning his elbow on the desk top as he wrote laboriously, when he heard Nurse Brenda talking.

An enormous plant blocked his view, but he could hear Cuddy's latest assistant asking Brenda about a problem with room bookings. Cuddy's assistant, Lily, was a pleasant but completely ineffectual woman. Wilson idly thought that House would drive her to quitting within six months.

'Thanks,' Lily said, with gratitude.

'No problem. Do it right next time,' Nurse Brenda said. Her voice was stern.

'Oh, I will,' Lily said in earnest. 'I was just a bit distracted this morning. That handsome Dr Wilson came in to see Dr Cuddy, just as I was in the middle of filling in the spreadsheet. He's very nice, isn't he?'

Wilson flinched and sank a little farther down behind the pot plant.

Brenda snorted. 'Don't waste your time chasing Dr Wilson.'

'Oh dear, why do you say that?'

'Because there's gotta be something seriously wrong with any man who's been divorced three times and chooses to hang out with Dr House in his spare time.'

Wilson winced and reflected that eavesdroppers never hear well of themselves.He pocketed his pen, picked up his forms and looked around to see if he could slip away without being noticed.

'Well, when you put it like that.' Lily sounded regretful. 'Why is he friends with Dr House? They seem awfully close.'

'You think they're close?' Brenda laughed, and lowered her voice. 'Then get your ass over to the Radiology betting pool.'

Wilson paused, his interest caught.

'Why, what's that about?' Lily also lowered her voice. Sensing gossip, excitement crept into her tone.

Brenda's voice was dry when she spoke next, but amused.

'You can place a bet on when House and Wilson had their first fuck. Can be any time in the past, present, or future. Doesn't matter if you think it just happened the once, or if its been going on for years; the pool is just about the first time. Some people reckon they can pin it down to an exact day. The pool's been running for years; there's supposed to be quite a bit of money in there by now. When the truth is out, closest bet will take all.'

'Wow!' Lily laughed. 'But - how will anyone ever know?'

'Good question. There are rules,' Brenda said. 'Main one is that if at all possible, both House and Wilson have to confirm it before anyone can collect. House is too much of a lying bastard to go on what he says alone.'

'But they might never admit it.'

'Oh, it'll all come out one day,' Brenda said carelessly. 'Those of us with money in there know we're in for the long haul.'

'You know, I have wondered if Dr House was sleeping with Dr Cuddy, because I can't see why she doesn't fire him, already,' Lily confided in an undertone.

'Ah, Cuddy and House. Now _that _was a whole different betting pool,' Brenda said. Wilson stopped listening, as he had learned of the pool about Cuddy and House in the past. The Infectious Diseases guys had begun a book on whether Cuddy had slept with House within days of House starting work in their department at Princeton Plainsboro, on the grounds that there was no way she would have employed him otherwise.

People had occasionally approached Wilson for inside information, but he had avoided them because he had been too embarrassed to admit that he didn't know. The book had paid out a few months ago, after a conversation between House and Cuddy in the clinic, which had been overheard by a number of people.

Someone interrupted the conversation between Brenda and Lily, and it moved on to other subjects.

Wilson crept away, feeling embarrassed, yet entertained. He went to relate the conversation to House for mutual amusement.

House was in a lull at the moment. He had just finished a case and was in no hurry at all to get another, so he took great interest in what Wilson had heard. Both House and Wilson had always assumed that the Radiology betting pool would be a simple 'are they having sex' question, but it was obviously a lot more complicated than that. Wilson watched House become contemplative, and knew he'd given him something to stave off boredom for a while. Which was good, as it meant he'd take fewer pills while his brain was occupied.

* * *

In the end, it took House a week to learn the details. It was a regular evening when it happened. Wilson had gone to House's apartment after work and was considering what to make for dinner. He had begun to wonder when House would arrive, when House burst through the front door, eyes bright and cheeks flushed with excitement. House put a hand inside his jacket pocket and brandished a sheaf of papers.

'This was the hardest thing I've ever had to track down at work,' he announced. 'Stealing personnel files are a doddle, medical files no problem, finding out the identities of Cuddy's potential sperm donors, my ass. But this - this was tough. Nothing on computer at all. Nothing in the office files. Basically I'm a genius.'

Wilson took the sheaf of papers, which were new photocopies, and looked at the top page. It said in handwritten letters _THE HOUSE/WILSON FIRST FUCK RADIOLOGY BETTING POOL._

'Oh my God, House!' Wilson was torn between disapproval and burning curiosity. 'Where did you get this? And how?'

House sank down onto the couch and propped his cane against the arm. 'You don't wanna know. It took me two days to narrow it down to the right office. You know how often people are in there? All the time. And it turned out to be an old exercise book with nothing on the cover to show what it was. Just by chance that I picked it up. Not that you'd never pick it up accidentally, not normally - anyway. Let's see!'

Wilson sat down next to House. 'You haven't looked at it yet?'

'Wilson, I only had five minutes to copy the damn thing and get out before I got caught.'

They looked at the papers together - House avidly and Wilson with hesitation, then growing amazement.

Brenda was right. The Radiology betting pool was indeed based on when, and if, House and Wilson first had sex. The book had looked as though it had been started around the time of House's infarction nearly eight years ago. Changes in handwriting gave House and Wilson the idea that the book seemed to have gone through the hands of several Radiology secretaries since its creation.

The book took the form of a sketched timeline. It listed years before the infarction and the years after, beyond the present day and several years into the future, and at the end a list headed _Never._

People had written in their names, date of their bet and amounts of money placed next to approximate dates on the timeline. The amounts of money were mostly small - ten dollars here, twenty dollars there - but the number of people placing bets was really quite high.

'There's Chase!' House said excitedly, and squinted to see when it had been written in. 'So he thinks we first fucked ten years ago. Tut, Chase; I'd expect better from you.'

'And there's Foreman. Five years ago,' Wilson noted.

'Unimaginative as ever. Oh God, Cameron's on the never list,' House groaned. 'How on earth do people ever expect to collect on that one anyway? Maybe if we died.'

'Ah, but she placed the bet only a few months after she started working here,' Wilson pointed out. 'She'd have been in full crush mode. She'd probably bet differently today.'

'Is Cuddy anywhere?'

They both scrutinized the pages carefully, but Cuddy's name was nowhere to be found.

'Possibly as Dean she feels she shouldn't participate in such things,' Wilson suggested.

House snorted. 'Or perhaps they wouldn't let her join because they thought she might have inside information. Isn't that why _you_ didn't join the Huddy pool?'

Wilson blushed, not having been aware that House knew about the House/Cuddy betting pool (and even less aware that House had known what it was called).

'You know, nobody's anywhere near the right answer,' Wilson observed instead of replying.

'Who's closest?' House asked, and flipped through the pages. 'Oh God, it's Brenda.'

They looked at the page together. Written in a small neat hand was _Brenda Previn_. Her guess was still out by several years, but the only bet to have gone back in time substantially before both House and Wilson started working at Princeton Plainsboro.

'You know, there must be a good thousand dollars worth of bets here,' Wilson remarked. 'Or more.'

House flicked through the pages. 'You could be right.' He frowned. 'There must be a way in on this.'

Wilson laughed. 'Yeah, of course there is. We'll just steal the book, write our names in by the exact correct date, put it back, come out in the cafeteria, and claim our winnings.'

'Wilson!' House dug him in the ribs. 'Like you'd remember how long ago it was anyway.'

Wilson looked at House in annoyed surprise. 'Like _you_ would. You who gets his own birthday wrong.'

'You, who failed to remember a single wedding anniversary in all three of your marriages,' House countered.

They looked at each other. 'Go on then. How long ago?' House demanded.

'You go on,' Wilson said stubbornly.

House reached out and picked up a blank sheet of paper. He tore it in half and handed one piece to Wilson. 'Alright, we'll both write it down.'

'All right,' Wilson said.

They both sat writing for a moment, then looked back at each other, and swapped pieces of paper.

Wilson had written _Tuesday October 20th, 1987_. House had written _19 years, 10 months & 3 days_.

They each looked at the papers just long enough to ascertain they'd both got it right, and then looked back at each other, remembering another city, another couch, another time, nearly twenty years ago.

House reached out and put an arm round Wilson's waist, and murmured, 'You didn't have these love handles then.'

Wilson snorted, then reached up and ruffled House's hair. 'And you had more hair.'

'Watch it,' House warned light-heartedly.

He leaned forward and rested his forehead against Wilson's. Wilson closed his eyes. Their noses met, and Wilson gently rubbed his nose against House's. House moved his head to one side and covered Wilson's mouth with his own. Wilson kissed him back, softly at first, and then as the memories of twenty years ago continued to flood back, they both leaned in with a passion.

Wilson pulled back and raised an eyebrow. House knew exactly what he meant, grabbed his cane and rose to his feet. They headed for the bedroom; because in the course of their fractious and intractable twenty year relationship, some things had changed. Back then they'd grappled in the hallway and fallen in a tangle of limbs on the floor, and not thought about any of it twice. Now they knew that spontaneity was just not worth the payback afterwards - the pain for House's leg, the agony for Wilson in causing House the pain.

But that didn't mean they couldn't have sex that was just as great as it had been back then. It just required a bit more invention. And sometimes the most mind-blowing orgasms came from just knowing _exactly _what the other wanted.

In the bedroom, House sat on the bed and Wilson next to him. House unknotted Wilson's tie and dropped it on the floor; Wilson pushed House's T-shirt up and over his head, then unbuttoned his own shirt and shrugged it off his shoulders. House watched the shirtsleeves roll down and the muscles move in Wilson's arms; Wilson watched House's bright blue eyes travel back and forth.

House pressed his face gently into Wilson's chest, muttering, _'Wilson'_, then moved up to nibble on Wilson's ear. Wilson breathed deeply, feeling House's stubble rasp against his cheek, his neck; so familiar, so good.

With House still breathing into his ear, Wilson reached to undo first House's belt buckle, then his own, and they each slid out of their pants. House sat back on the bed, leaning against the headboard, not taking his eyes off Wilson's chest, his hips, his thighs - and perfect ass, naked now and close to him, and just as gorgeous as it always had been. Wilson watched House's reaction, and felt his heart press against his chest with intensity so deep it was almost painful.

Wilson moved to straddle House, facing him. House felt Wilson's cock press against his own, and sucked in his breath sharply. Wilson rocked gently, then harder. The friction aroused them both. Wilson reached down and took House's cock in his hand, rolling back and forth, rubbing them together; House reached out for Wilson; they both groaned in pleasure.

Wilson then slid down the bed to take House's cock in his mouth; first slowly, delicately lapping at the head until House reached down and grabbed his hair and pushed him down. Then Wilson took the full length of House's cock in his mouth and sucked him slowly, up and down, until House started to buck his hips.

Wilson hesitated, wondering whether to keep sucking and finish House off, but House gasped, _'Not yet.'_

Wilson rose to straddle House again. He kissed House on the mouth. House tasted himself and shuddered deliciously. Then Wilson pressed his whole body firmly against House, and House pushed back as hard as he could. They moved to a common pulse, bowing and arching together, until they came, House first, Wilson only seconds later.

Wilson rolled off and flopped down next to House. They both lay there for a minute, recovering the power of speech.

'Now if all those people so keen to bet on us could've seen that,' House muttered eventually.

'I'd really rather they didn't,' Wilson deadpanned.

* * *

Over the next few days, House observed a couple of times that there had to be a way they could make money out of this. He suggested first getting Cuddy's assistant to buy in and splitting the take, and then getting Cuddy herself to buy in, but as Wilson pointed out, there was no way that a sudden bet by either Cuddy or her assistant that was shortly proven to be right wouldn't be ultra-suspicious.

'And don't forget in order to prove the bet, we'd have to come out,' Wilson added.

'Ah, but all we have to admit to is the_ first_ fuck,' House exclaimed. 'Which we can put down to youthful indiscretion. We don't have to admit to anything else afterwards.'

'Hmm, but we would be providing ammo for everyone from here on out,' Wilson pointed out. 'All I'm saying is _please_ think this one through before you out me in the cafeteria.'

House and Wilson didn't talk much about the betting pool book after that, pretending when they did that it was a bit of light-hearted fun. But they both looked at it closely when the other wasn't around.

It was, Wilson reflected, a strange window on how they were seen by others. He was particularly struck - and he was sure House was too - by the number of bets placed for dates a few months after House's infarction. That would have been around the time Stacy left. What had they thought had happened? Had they seen Stacy as the only barrier between them getting together? Had they seen it as Wilson giving his deserted best friend a pity fuck?

* * *

'Wilson! Need you,' House caught up with Wilson in the corridor outside their offices.

'Never thought you'd admit it,' Wilson said brightly, flicking through a file. 'Can it wait?'

'No.' House grabbed Wilson by the arm and pulled him towards the elevator. 'I need you to come sit in a corner and keep quiet.'

'Right.' Wilson eyed House suspiciously and dropped his voice. 'Is this about - '

'Yes. You'll see,' House pushed Wilson into the elevator. The doors closed behind them. 'Don't worry, I'm not going to out you in the cafeteria.'

House led Wilson to a small storeroom in the basement, full of medical supplies. Wilson sat in a chair in a corner, partially hidden from view by a stack of shelves. House perched on a table in the middle of the room.

'This is all very melodramatic. Now what?' Wilson asked.

'She'll be here in a sec,' said House. 'Shut up and leave the talking to me.'

'Who?'

Wilson's question was answered as the door opened and in came Nurse Brenda. She was looking at a piece of paper in her hand and didn't immediately see House. She shut the door behind her, turned around, saw House, and nearly jumped out of her skin.

'Dr House, what the hell are you doing here?' she said angrily.

'I've got a proposition for you,' House said smoothly.

'Fuck off and stop wasting my time,' Brenda snapped, and turned towards the door.

House said swiftly, 'I can make it so you collect on the Radiology Betting Pool.'

Brenda stopped and looked back at him.

'Nearly two thousand dollars,' House added. 'Wouldn't that be a welcome contribution to your daughter's college fund?'

Brenda glared daggers at him, opened her mouth to say something, then shut it again. She took her hand off the door handle and came a few steps into the room.

'Are you saying... I was right? You've fucked, and my bet's the closest?' she demanded. She didn't waste time asking how they knew about it.

'At the moment. Don't get too excited, you're still years out,' House stated. 'All I need to do is drop a few hints to a few people, and you'll lose your pole position.'

Brenda frowned. 'I don't believe you. You're screwing with me.'

'Ah, I thought you might think that, seeing as I'm such a lying bastard,' House rapped on the floor with his cane. 'So I brought confirmation. Wilson?'

Brenda followed his gaze, and jumped again at the sight of Wilson, sitting on a chair with his arms folded.

'He's right, Brenda,' Wilson said shortly. 'I've seen the book. You're closest. And I have no idea what the hell he's up to either.'

Brenda nodded, and looked back at House suspiciously. 'So - what _are _you up to?'

'Like I said, I've got a proposition for you,' House began.

Brenda smirked. 'Dr Wilson might have something to say about that.'

Wilson couldn't stifle a snort of laughter. House glared at him, then looked back at Brenda.

'You run the clinic. I hate the clinic. You can make my life easier. Give me the afternoon shifts, the quiet ones, with fewer families of vomiting children around. The times when Cuddy's busy and I can get away with sending my staff instead. Don't grass me up to Cuddy if I'm a few minutes late, or leave a few minutes early. And for God's sake don't put my staff at the back of the queue when they need a room or the MRI, 'cause I _know_ you do at the moment and finding ways around it is frankly taking up too much of their time.' House paused. 'I reckon a year of that is worth two grand to you.'

'A year? Fuck off,' said Brenda. There was a pause. 'Six months.'

'Nine months,' said House.

'Done,' Brenda said promptly. Wilson gaped.

'So now what?' Brenda asked.

'Leave that to me,' House said confidently.

Brenda nodded and turned back towards the door. She stopped and looked back. 'I've got to ask. Was it just the once? Or have you been fucking ever since?'

House looked her dead in the eye and said, 'Just the once. We were drunk. And young and stupid.'

Brenda looked straight back at him, said, 'You're a lying bastard,' and left.

Wilson got up and came over to stand next to House, who hadn't moved from his perch on the table.

'House,' he said sternly, hands on hips. 'I can't believe you just bartered details of our sex life for nine months light clinic duty.'

'Can't you?' House looked at him archly. 'Shouldn't you know me a bit better after all this time?'

'Well, of course I do.' Wilson sighed. 'I guess I'm just hoping I'm going to wake up in a moment and find this is all a dream.'

'Its not _details_, its only a date,' House said. 'And the date of something which a hundred-odd staff in this hospital already believe happened strongly enough to put money on.'

Wilson shook his head. 'I still don't think it's a good idea.'

House hooked an arm round Wilson's neck and pulled him towards him. 'I'll make it up to you.'

Suddenly the door flew open, and Brenda was standing right outside, clearly not having moved from the spot. She grinned at them triumphantly, then slammed the door shut again, and was gone. Wilson groaned.

'There's a reason they call her Evil Nurse Brenda,' House observed.

* * *

It was a week later before House found his moment, and Wilson wasn't there, rather to his relief. The first thing Wilson heard was a commotion outside his office door; a number of people talking and arguing. He recognized the raised voice of the Radiology department secretary. Wilson felt a sinking feeling in his stomach; he thought he knew what had just happened.

Suddenly there was a knock on his door, and in came Cameron, Chase and Foreman. Cameron was smiling a huge fake smile, Chase looked apprehensive, and Foreman looked as if he had only come in because someone behind him had pushed him in.

'Dr Wilson,' Cameron said nervously. 'Can we talk to you for a second?'

'Uh, sure.' Wilson put down his pen and took a firm grip on himself. 'What's up?'

'House was in the clinic just now and he said something... uh, that we thought you should be told. Everyone's talking about it.'

Wilson groaned. 'Break it to me.'

Cameron looked around for support, and when none was forthcoming, went on, 'Well, he'd clearly just had a very stressful time in the clinic... We were waiting for him at the nurses' station... He came stomping out of the exam room... It was very busy, there were lots of people around... He slammed a file down on the desk and said...'

Cameron's voice trailed away. Chase chimed in.

'And he said, "_Not another damn__STD patient! What is it with young people these days? When I fucked Wilson all those years ago, were we that stupid?"'_ Chase's voice stumbled on the word _Wilson_ but then recovered and carried on. 'And then - he looked at everyone staring at him and shouted_, "What? It was twenty years ago!"_ And he just walked out of the door, out of the hospital, and didn't come back. Nobody dared go after him. Not even Cuddy.'

Wilson felt himself blushing and he put a hand over his face. _Thanks a bundle, House!_ In the middle of the clinic. Even worse than in the middle of the cafeteria. Patients would have been there as well as staff.

He realized that House's staff was staring at him.

'OK, so I have to go kill House,' he said, going for a breezy tone, but not quite pulling it off. 'You said Cuddy was there?'

'Yes - she looked pretty stunned, but then just rolled her eyes and told everyone to get back to work, it was just House being House. Dr Wilson, is it - true?' Cameron looked as if she couldn't believe she'd dared ask.

Wilson briefly thought about telling her to mind her own business, but in fact he already knew how he was going to play this. Beating around the bush would only make rumors worse. He remembered House's line to Brenda.

'Um, yes, it's true.' He looked straight at Cameron. 'It was a long time ago. At Columbia. We were young - I was just a med student, House was a resident. We'd only met a few weeks before.'

That part was actually true, and Wilson relaxed a little bit as he eased into the untrue part. He shrugged benignly and raised his hands. 'We got drunk one evening. Woke up in bed together the next day. All very embarrassing, if you can imagine.'

Chase looked as if he was trying to imagine. Cameron looked as if she was trying not to. Foreman looked as if he had no idea what he was doing there.

'So that was that. It just happened the one time. Not very exciting really,' Wilson said self-deprecatingly.

As the three of them didn't seem to know what to do next, Wilson added, 'Thanks for letting me know what House said,' in a tone of dismissal, and this jolted them into action.

Foreman headed for the door and the others followed. Once they were out, Wilson again heard a commotion outside his door, but this time it moved off down the corridor and faded. Wilson waited until he was sure nobody was near, then picked up the phone and dialed.

'Hey, House. You're an ass.'

'Wilson.' House's voice sounded a little nervous - not something Wilson was used to hearing. 'Hospital in an uproar?'

'You could say that.' Wilson could still hear raised voices from down the corridor. 'Your staff just came in to get confirmation from me. You would have loved to have seen their faces.'

'Hah.' House sounded satisfied. 'I got to see Cuddy's face, that was more than enough.'

'Don't think I've forgiven you for this yet,' Wilson warned.

'Come over this evening and forgive me then.'

Wilson smiled into the phone. 'You'll have to make it sound a bit more tempting than that.' He glanced up, hearing a knock on his door.

'All right...' House paused, then went on, his voice lower, huskier. 'Come over and watch that new Norwegian porn I got last week. You can watch me jerk off, and then I'll suck you off real slow, until you're _begging_ me to let you come - and then you can fuck me up the ass until -'

'God, House,' Wilson hissed frantically. 'Cuddy's just come in my office.'

'Well, as long as _you_ haven't just come in your office,' House responded smartly.

'No thanks to you.' Wilson sent Cuddy a strangled smile, and added into the phone, 'I'll be over soon as I can.'

Wilson hung up, and turned to face Cuddy, who was looking at him very oddly.

TBC


	3. The Twentieth Anniversary

**TITLE: ****The **_House/Wilson First Fuck _Twentieth Anniversary  
**AUTHOR:** hwshipper  
**DISCLAIMER**: All characters belong to Heel and Toe Films, Shore Z Productions and Bad Hat Harry Productions in association with Universal Media Studios.  
**SUMMARY**: House/Wilson, hospital gossip, window!sex. Set after 4.03: 97 Seconds.  
**BETA:** bornbeautiful sterling as ever.

**The **_**House/Wilson First Fuck **_**Twentieth Anniversary**

Nurse Brenda stood behind the nurse's station as House arrived fifteen minutes late for clinic duty. As a matter of course, Wilson walked up to the station to sign out of clinic duty fifteen minutes past his scheduled time.

"Have you guys heard? Radiology's got a new betting pool about you," Brenda said casually.

House and Wilson's eyes locked for a moment, and then both looked at her.

"No, but my fellows are all fired if there is one and they haven't told me," House said.

"So what's this one about then?" Wilson asked, his voice light.

"This one is the House-and-Wilson-no-way-just-did-it-the once-they-are-so-still-fucking-so-when's-someone-gonna-find-proof betting pool," Brenda said smoothly.

House and Wilson in unison let out a loud sigh.

"That's a terrible name, not nearly as catchy as the last one," Wilson deadpanned. He signed the bottom of the form he was completing, closed the file, and said, "It's not gonna get anything close to as many bets."

"Oh, I don't know. A lot of people came straight out of the first pool and bounced right into this one," Brenda informed them. "Not me though, not yet. Any chance of a heads up, guys?"

"Stick your money in the _never _column," House said witheringly. He picked up the patient file on the top of the pile, grasping it with difficulty with his burned hand, and walked off towards the waiting area.

* * *

Back at his desk, Wilson was looking through his calendar for a free slot to schedule an appointment with a patient, when he noticed the following Friday afternoon had been blocked out as leave time from the hospital. He frowned. He hadn't booked that.

Wilson found a slot for his patient, booked them in, and opened up House's calendar. Somehow he wasn't surprised to find that House had the same afternoon off.

He looked at the date; Friday was October 19th. He started to have an inkling of an idea.

At the end of the day, Wilson went to House's office, where House sat behind his desk with his legs stretched out on the top of his desk. Wilson sat down opposite House's desk, leaned back in the chair and folded his hands behind his head.

"So I seem to be on vacation next Friday afternoon," Wilson said in a casual tone.

"Ah yes, I cleared that with Cuddy for you," House said, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

"And did you actually give any reason?" Wilson inquired, straight-faced.

"Of course," said House, as if the reason was obvious. "I said that despite the fact that we usually fail to remember public holidays, birthdays or any other significant dates, we were recently made aware that Saturday is the twentieth anniversary of when we first fucked. And to mark that, we're spending the weekend fucking each other senseless in a swanky hotel in New York. So we need Friday afternoon off to drive up there."

A smile creased the corner of Wilson's mouth. "That's what you told Cuddy?"

"That's right."

"No, you didn't."

"No, I didn't," admitted House. "I told her we were going to a monster truck rally."

"House, you're not telling me you passed up a monster truck rally for a romantic weekend in a hotel."

"Of course not," House said indignantly. "I checked statewide and there's no monster trucks or decent ball games or gigs or films or _anything_ worth doing on Saturday. Cuddy's not going to know that. And who said anything about romantic? _Dirty weekend_ is how I'd describe it."

"Ah, well I'm very flattered that's how you want to spend the weekend, when there's so little else on," Wilson said in a solemn tone, and stood up to leave.

"I wouldn't be too flattered; I had to give a credit card when I booked, so I gave yours," House said brightly.

Wilson groaned, shook his head and left. But the smile didn't leave his eyes. House would deny, even under torture, that this was a big romantic gesture. That didn't matter because Wilson knew it was, and House knew that he knew. New York was where they'd met all those years ago. And it was also a House-style apology; House's way of saying _sorry I nearly killed myself. Again_.

* * *

A couple of days later, House limped into Wilson's office and dropped into the chair facing Wilson. Wilson, buried in paperwork, barely glanced up.

"So this fancy New York restaurant just rang me," House said.

Wilson looked up.

House carried on, "They wanted to check if my reservation for Saturday night was for eight or eight-thirty, 'very sorry to bother you Dr. House, our records aren't clear.'"

"So what did you say?" Wilson asked innocently.

"I said they must have the wrong number, I didn't make any booking."

"No, you didn't."

"No, I didn't," House agreed. "I said eight-thirty sounded about right." He glared at Wilson. "I googled them afterwards. You have to wear a jacket and tie to get in that place."

"Only to get through the door," Wilson said, with a pacifying air. "I'm sure you can take them off once you're in."

"And as they have _my_ name, I guess you gave _my _credit card when you made the booking."

Wilson shrugged. "If I got the hotel, you're still getting the best deal here."

"It was my idea!" House said indignantly, and he stood up to leave. He didn't let up in his glare, but he leaned across the desk and flicked Wilson lightly on the arm. Wilson knew House was pleased.

* * *

The weekend did not get off to a good start. In fact, it could hardly have been worse.

Friday turned out to be a bad leg day for House. His thigh muscles started to spasm in the morning, and although he would have denied it with ferocity had Wilson dared ask, Wilson could see House was in a lot of pain.

Aware that the car journey to New York would make it worse, and conscious of House's most recent near-death experience, Wilson even briefly considered suggesting they didn't go, but realized House would never agree. The best thing was to try and ride it out. Wilson made sure he at least did all the driving.

By the time they arrived at the hotel House was grey-faced and sweating, and had popped at least twice as many Vicodin as Wilson would have considered safe. And those were only the pills House had let him see. Wilson bit his lip each time and didn't say anything; now was not the time. They got to their hotel suite and House muttered something about lying down for a bit. Wilson just nodded, and let House crash.

It wasn't difficult for Wilson to give House some space, because their penthouse suite on the fiftieth floor was the largest and most luxurious set of hotel rooms that Wilson had ever been in. He reflected wryly on the contrast with his own small hotel room, which he had lived in so long. This was an alternative universe of a hotel room. He wandered through the rooms, admiring the masses of space, the quality of the furniture and the size of the wall-mounted plasma TV screen.

Wilson flipped through the chunky leather bound list of facilities available and found the hotel would even provide a Playstation and games, on request. He phoned down and had one delivered. It kept him happily occupied for the next hour.

The evening drew on and as House appeared to be sleeping soundly in the bedroom, Wilson decided not to wake him and instead pulled a chair over to the window, which was floor to ceiling glass over the whole of one side of the room. Wilson sat looking out of the large window for a while, into the city at night. There were many darkened windows, and many lit ones; some with blinds pulled down, some with curtains pulled shut, but most just open to show a peek of office, hotel room or apartment behind.

Eventually Wilson nodded off, and woke at the noise of running water in the background. It sounded like House was having a bath. It seemed like too much effort to get up, so Wilson drifted off again, and only woke properly half an hour later when a pair of hands landed on his shoulders, followed by a nose nuzzling the top of his head.

"Hey, House," Wilson said sleepily.

"Been watching people at their windows?" House said in an undertone, moving to nuzzle Wilson's neck. He was wearing a hotel white fluffy bathrobe.

"You can't really see people unless they're right up against the glass," Wilson said, with a yawn. "It's just nice... being so high up... watching the lights... so peaceful."

He leaned back towards House, pushing the side of his head against House's face.

House put his chin on Wilson's shoulder and looked out at the New York skyline. "Up against the glass, eh? Seen anyone doing anything... interesting?"

House's hands snaked down Wilson's chest and suddenly Wilson was wide-awake. House was, obviously, feeling better.

"It's after midnight," House stated. "Time to celebrate."

"Waiting for the anniversary? House, you've become a hopeless romantic in your old age," Wilson teased, and thought (but didn't say), _You'll be saying 'I love you' next… no wait, you already did that._

"I want to fuck you up against the glass. Is that romantic enough for you?" House challenged.

Wilson turned his head and they kissed deeply.

Wilson stood up and looked out at the night sky. _Up against the glass. _He wasn't quite sure how this was going to work; House didn't do standing positions well, for the most part. And he wasn't doing much with that burned left hand, either. House grabbed the back of the armchair, which he was already leaning on, pulling it towards the window. Resting part of his weight sideways onto the arm, House put his other hand onto Wilson's chest and pushed him back against the glass.

Wilson leaned back against the window, and House let go of the chair and pressed the full length of his body up against Wilson's body, pushing his lips, his chest, his groin, up against Wilson's lips, chest, groin. Feeling House's weight bearing down on him, Wilson found he had heightened awareness that behind him was a window, not a wall; just a sheet of glass holding him up, stopping him plunging down fifty stories onto a New York street.

He reached out, and untied House's bathrobe. House was naked underneath, and Wilson reached in and grasped House's cock, already hard, and gave it a couple of swift tugs, House let out a strangled noise and reached to yank at Wilson's shirt buttons.

Wilson swiftly stripped off his own clothes. House, leaning with one shoulder against the window, extracted a condom and lube from the pocket of his bathrobe, then pushed the robe off his shoulders, and said, gruffly, "Turn around."

Wilson turned and was momentarily startled by the sight of the city below. He suddenly felt very naked indeed. Then House gave him a small push forward, and Wilson's forehead pressed against the window. He stared out and could see lights, other windows, movement behind them, all in a neon blur. He could feel House's breath on his neck and House's cock hard up against his ass, then pushing up inside, House leaning with most of his weight. Wilson put his own palms up against the glass. He arched his back and pressed back with his ass; House grunted, and put his right hand round to rest on top of Wilson's right hand. Wilson felt a tingling sensation at the cold glass under his palms and House's fingertips pressing against his knuckles.

Wilson shut his eyes, then opened them, feeling his eyelashes bat against the glass. He looked out, and down, peering downwards as far as he could see; a haze of sidewalk, road, streetlights, cars, cabs, people; umbrellas - rain; and for a second felt he was falling, plummeting helplessly, and that House was falling with him. Wilson's body jerked involuntarily; House felt the movement, felt the moment, and grasped Wilson's arm, murmuring, _"Got you."_

Wilson pushed his head backwards, breathing heavily now, caught between the fogged lights dazzling in the dark night in front of him, and House's body, flesh, real, earthy, sweaty, panting and grinding behind him, pinning him to the glass.

House's body convulsed as he came, then House collapsed into a sitting position on the arm of the chair. Wilson shifted position, putting one arm up against the glass. House reached out and clasped Wilson's cock in his fist; Wilson gasped and his balance teetered as House jacked him off swiftly with a couple of expert hand movements. Wilson then dropped into the chair beside House, and the two of them just stayed still for a few moments, breathing, and looking out into the night.

* * *

Some time later, Wilson awoke and woozily stumbled off out of bed and off to the bathroom. House was sound asleep and snoring slightly in the bed. On his way back to the bedroom, Wilson walked past the large table in the living room of their suite, and stopped dead. There was a small square blue box sitting in the middle of the table, illuminated by moonlight from the window.

_How did he know?,_ Wilson thought as he stared at the box.

He went over, and opened it, and it was a ring, a gold ring. _How the hell did he know?_ Wilson took the ring out, and peered inside, read the inscription beautifully engraved there, and was dumbstruck.

He hesitated over trying the ring on, rejecting his left hand, as he had had far too many different wedding rings on there over the years. Eventually he put it on the middle finger of his right hand. It was a near perfect fit. _Damn it, House_.

Wilson padded softly into the bedroom, opened his suitcase and put the blue box inside. He then felt around carefully inside the case, and took out another small box - very similar in size and shape, but a burgundy color. He took the burgundy box back into the living room and placed it onto the table where the blue box had been. Then he headed back to bed, laid down next to the still snoring House, and fell asleep within a few minutes.

* * *

An hour or so later, Wilson was woken by puppies licking his face. As consciousness gradually returned, he realized it wasn't puppies after all, but House's tongue dropping wet kisses across his forehead, nose, cheeks and chin.

House, seeing him wake up, placed his right hand in the centre of Wilson's chest, and Wilson felt a cold metal band on one of House's fingers; House had discovered his own present.

"How the fuck did you know?" House hissed, and Wilson felt a quiet joy inside him at the confirmation that House hadn't known, that they'd come to the same idea independently.

"How the fuck did _you_ know?" Wilson replied, giving House the same knowledge. He placed his own right hand in the middle of House's chest, letting House feel the band on his finger.

House dropped a kiss on his mouth in reply. They lay next to each other for a long time, gently necking, nibbling, caressing, simply delighting in one another's bodies, in being together.

* * *

The following morning they got up late, and spent a lazy day hanging around their suite, watching some TV, playing some Playstation, sending out for room service and generally being idle in a most enjoyable way. Come the evening, they got dressed, and went out for the posh restaurant meal, which Wilson had booked the reservation. House submitted to wearing a jacket and tie without as much complaining as Wilson had expected, and actually kept the tie on for a while after they sat down at their table.

"You know," House said during dessert (cheesecake for Wilson and a sundae for House), "We show up at work on Monday with matching rings, people are gonna talk."

"They don't match," Wilson protested. They compared fingers. House's ring was wider, as befitted his larger hand. Also the inscriptions inside were different, not that that could be seen, of course. House's ring read _Tuesday October 20th, 1987; _Wilson's ring, in a different font, read more cryptically _19 years, 10 months & 3 days._

"Close enough," said House.

"People don't notice stuff like rings," Wilson offered his opinion.

House snorted. "You've got to be kidding me. Your entire department used to gauge the state of your marriage by whether you were wearing your wedding ring or not."

"Really?" Wilson grimaced.

"Absolutely." House licked his spoon. "So - do we care?"

Wilson leaned across and dipped his own spoon in House's sundae. "Let's play this one by ear. Maybe nobody will notice."

"Humph," said House skeptically, but Wilson offered House a forkful of cheesecake, and House let it go.

* * *

Monday morning, House and Wilson arrived at work together, at a reasonable time; Wilson had an early appointment and House had wanted to get a lift in. As they passed by the clinic, Wilson stopped at the nurse's station to pick up some letters. House continued walking but bumped into Cuddy a few paces later.

"Morning, Dr. House," she said, and looked at him closely. "Good weekend? You're bright and early today."

"Can't wait to start treating all these sick people," House said cheerily.

Wilson joined them, and Cuddy looked at him closely too. Suddenly her eyes narrowed. "You're wearing matching rings!"

House looked at Wilson with an expression that said, "W_e are so busted_."

Wilson glared at House, and said to Cuddy, "They don't match!"

"Like hell they don't." Cuddy grabbed Wilson's hand, as House's was clutching his cane, and peered at the ring. "I knew something was up this weekend! I checked, there were no monster trucks anywhere near here."

Wilson glowered at House again.

"Secret friendship club rings?" House offered hopefully.

"No way. I'm thinking engagement, civil ceremony -" Cuddy began.

"They're anniversary presents," Wilson said hastily, before Cuddy could take that line of thought any further.

"Anniversary presents and a dirty weekend away," said Cuddy with satisfaction. "I think that's enough for me to claim on the new Radiology pool. Thanks, guys!" She dropped Wilson's hand and strode quickly away, her high heels clacking on the floor.

Wilson turned his full glare on House.

"What?" House protested.

"You made her suspicious about the weekend deliberately so she'd join the pool and collect."

"Oh, Mr. Paranoid or what." House rolled his eyes. "Let's face it, Wilson, this was gonna happen sooner or later anyway." And he leaned towards Wilson and kissed him hard on the mouth.

In his peripheral vision Wilson could see people gawping. His first thought was "_Why does this sort of thing always have to happen in the clinic?"_ followed closely by "_fuck it_," and he kissed House back.

Then they pulled apart, bumped shoulders and walked on towards the elevator.

TBC


	4. Cohabitation Speculation

**TITLE:** The House/Wilson First Fuck Cohabitation Speculation  
**AUTHOR:** hwshipper  
**DISCLAIMER:** All characters belong to Heel and Toe Films, Shore Z Productions and Bad Hat Harry Productions in association with Universal Media Studios.  
**SUMMARY**: Those pesky PPTH betting pools just won't stop.  
**BETA**: the ever-reliable bornbeautiful

**The House/Wilson First Fuck Cohabitation Speculation**

Henry had been in the habit for a while now of visiting House's apartment once a month or so to watch a ball game with House and Wilson. He brought beer and chips of course, and the three of them would lounge around, eat, drink and make inane conversation. They'd always been friendly to him, but he had thought at first that they were a little bit stilted in how they acted towards each other in his presence. As if they weren't quite sure how to behave in front of him. But over time, as they'd got used to having him around, he'd noticed they'd both gradually got more relaxed and natural. And recently they'd been positively casual about it all.

He was still surprised though, when Wilson opened the door to him apparently wearing nothing more than a T-shirt. One of House's T-shirts too, judging from the gaudy print.

"Hey, Henry," Wilson greeted him, stepping backwards, and Henry saw with some relief that Wilson was wearing shorts after all, just rather short shorts. "Come in. I'm just in the middle of cooking. Venison stew. I have to stir."

Henry shut the door behind him and followed Wilson into the kitchen. "Nice outfit," Henry said, deadpan.

"Oh, yeah, sorry." Wilson stuck a long wooden spoon in a pan and stirred vigorously. "Would you believe House spilled red wine all over my pants last night—and all over my shirt. I do have a spare pair of pants here, but only one, so I thought I'd better do lunch first before I put them on—this stuff can splash and it would stain too." Some stew slopped out of the pan while he was talking. It was a delicious-looking rich red-brown color.

Henry nodded solemnly and got himself a cold beer out of the fridge.

"House around?" he asked, sitting down at the kitchen table and popping open the can.

"He's in the shower." Now Wilson had mentioned it, Henry could hear the sound of the shower down the hall. "He slept in late this morning—just got up in honor of your pending arrival."

"I'm very flattered," Henry said, amused.

Ten minutes later, House appeared in the kitchen, wearing a long brown bathrobe and mopping his wet hair with a towel. He was walking without his cane, so he leaned heavily on the doorframe for support.

"Scooter. Thought I heard you arrive. I hope you brought replacements for that beer of mine you're drinking." House then glared at Wilson, who was still at the stove. "Wilson, I'm sure Henry appreciates the view, but put some pants on for Christ's sake. And isn't that _my_ T-shirt?"

"If you'd let me have more than an inch of your closet space I'd keep more clothes here," Wilson retorted, tasting the stew. Apparently it was acceptable, as he put the spoon down. "OK. Henry, would you mind taking over here? I'm just going to get dressed."

Henry watched House and Wilson vanish off towards the bedroom together and smiled. He ladled the stew into bowls and carried them to the lounge.

Soon the three of them were sitting watching the game and eating stew, both House and Wilson now fully dressed, though Wilson was still wearing House's T-shirt. Actually, judging from the glances House occasionally threw at Wilson, Henry suspected that House rather liked seeing Wilson wearing his T-shirt.

After a couple of hours Henry dozed off in his armchair; he did find himself napping increasingly these days in the afternoon. He woke with a jump some twenty minutes later and glanced round the room to see that House and Wilson were lying on the couch, necking. They were fully clothed, but Henry thought he could see Wilson pressing his crotch up against House's hip, and House had definitely put a hand up inside Wilson's T-shirt. Which was House's T-shirt, of course.

Henry shut his eyes and yawned loudly and exaggeratedly, finding it became a real yawn in the process, and stretched; when he opened his eyes House and Wilson were no longer necking, although they were still lying close together.

"Want a coffee, Henry?" Wilson asked, shifting away from House. "Help keep you awake."

"Sure," Henry said, thinking he would leave after that; he didn't want to outstay his welcome.

Wilson got up and padded into the kitchen. House remained lying on the couch; he picked up the remote and started channel surfing. Wilson came back into the living room a few minutes later carrying mugs, and said, "It's black coffee only. House, you're out of milk again."

"I thought you'd buy some," House said in an injured tone. "You were food shopping, weren't you?"

"Yeah, for the stew. Not for your everyday needs." Wilson rolled his eyes in exasperation as he put the mugs down on the table.

"Oh well, if you can't be bothered. Guess I'll have to go out and get some later." House reached out for a mug, shifting his body slightly, and grimaced and clutched his leg. He was laying it on thick.

Wilson sighed, obviously not convinced by this little show, but going along with it. "It's alright. I'll go."

"You two sound just like an old married couple. Ever thought of getting married?" Henry asked in amusement.

House and Wilson both made snorting noises. "Wilson hasn't got a great track record in that area," House said.

Wilson elbowed House in the ribs. "House just doesn't want to risk being called the fourth Mrs. Wilson."

"You would so be the first Mrs. House," House came back spiritedly. "Anyway, I wouldn't marry anyone without living with them first. And Wilson won't move in with me no matter how often I ask."

"We've tried it before, remember?" Wilson said, in a _not-this-again_ voice. "Didn't we nearly drive each other mad?"

"That was when you were still in denial about the end of your last marriage, and sleeping on the couch," House retorted. "I think you've moved on a bit since then."

Henry made a remark about domestic bliss, which led Wilson to relate, with remembered indignation, the story of how House had put Wilson's hand in a bowl of water while he slept. House rolled his eyes and reminded Wilson about the cane-sawing incident. Henry listened happily to the stories until he'd finished his coffee, then he made his excuses and departed.

* * *

After Henry had left, House and Wilson retreated to the bedroom and started necking again. Wilson resumed his position lying with his groin pressed up against House's hip. House could feel Wilson's cock, semi-hard and getting harder, through his pants.

House reached down to undo Wilson's belt. Wilson sat up and wriggled out of his pants, while House squirmed out of his. Wilson then moved to take off the T-shirt he was wearing, but House put out a hand to stop him.

Wilson looked down at House, surprised, then raised an eyebrow and grinned. "House, you like me wearing this, don't you?"

House looked up at Wilson, now clad only in the T-shirt. It looked rather incongruous, partly because Wilson didn't own anything like it himself—he wore dress shirts so often, even at weekends—and partly because it hung just a little too big and baggy on him.

"Don't get ideas about stealing my wardrobe," House said gruffly, knowing Wilson could see _this is a total turn-on_ in his face.

"So that's why you won't give me any more closet space here, you'd rather I wore your clothes," Wilson said mischievously, and he lay down again, pressing the length of his body against House's, angling himself skillfully away from House's bad leg.

House felt Wilson's cock, really hard now, pushing up against his own, and his breathing quickened. House pressed back, starting to grind, and watched Wilson's face, inches from his own, contort with arousal. House ducked his head down slightly to nestle his face against Wilson's chest, breathing the familiar scent of both himself and Wilson in the fabric of the T-shirt. Wilson reached down and grasped House's cock in his hand. A couple of swift rolling movements later and House came with a small, stifled cry. Wilson pushed his crotch hard up against House's hip and came himself a few seconds later.

They lay quietly together for a while, recovering.

"You know," House remarked after a while, "One of these days Henry's going to doze off here and wake up to find us fucking."

Wilson made a small, amused sound, leaning into House's neck. "Think he'd be traumatized for life?"

"Nah, he'd pretend he was still asleep and watch," House said confidently.

There was another comfortable silence, then House said casually, "So, Wilson, when the fuck are you going to move out of that hotel and come and live here?"

"I'll ... think about it," Wilson returned, smiling, and House had to be content with that.

* * *

The next day at the hospital, House reluctantly accepted a patient. Mid-morning, House was in the conference room next to his office, making paper planes and doling out jobs to his team. He dictated some instructions, different tests to be run by Thirteen, Taub and Kutner. The tests would take hours, probably the rest of the day.

"And I'll be out... somewhere this evening, so don't bother me with the results. Unless any of them are positive, which they won't be," House concluded. He frowned. "Where the fuck am I going tonight?"

"Shall we check with Dr. Wilson?" Thirteen asked innocently. When House glared at her, she added, "He does manage your social diary."

Kutner snickered, and House switched his glare to him. House was saved from the bother of thinking up a withering retort as he spotted Wilson through the window at that moment, walking down the hospital corridor and talking to Cameron. House waved his cane in the air. Wilson saw him, stopped and looked in the door.

"Wilson," House hailed him. "What the hell are we doing tonight?"

"You wanted to go to the late night screening of that new horror movie," Wilson said promptly. House nodded and waved his cane again in a gesture of dismissal. Wilson shut the door and carried on down the corridor with Cameron.

House looked back round at his employees. "I knew I had a date. So, no test results during the horror movie. You can go bother Dr. Foreman with them instead." He jerked his head in the direction of Foreman, who was sitting in the corner of the room, not reading the book propped open on his lap.

"So, are the two of you engaged yet or what?" asked Foreman.

* * *

"You two are just so cute together," Cameron said to Wilson as they walked on down the corridor.

"Uh, thanks, I guess," Wilson said wryly. He looked back at the conference room. House had just thrown a paper plane at Foreman. "Actually, I am thinking about moving in with him."

"Really?" Cameron looked so delighted that Wilson hastily backpedaled.

"_Thinking_ about it, I said."

"Oh, it's about time though, how long have you been living in that hotel?" Cameron didn't give Wilson a chance to answer. "You and House, you get along so well, I'm sure you'd be very happy together."

"That sounds ominous," Wilson observed, a trifle nervously. He noticed Cameron glance down at his hands. He was wearing the ring that he'd exchanged with House on their twentieth anniversary. Since then—two years ago—Wilson had only taken it off once, for a few days, when he and House had had a particularly bad spat about House nearly killing himself for the umpteenth time. As far as Wilson was aware, House had never taken his ring off at all.

"Oh, I'm not trying to marry you off," Cameron said, not sounding at all sincere.

* * *

"Have you noticed that everybody seems to be trying to marry us off?" Wilson asked House over lunch. They were sitting together in the hospital cafeteria.

"Fuck, yes," House responded, heartfelt. "Do they know something I don't?"

"If so, I don't know it either," Wilson bit into a sandwich. "Though I was stupid enough to tell Cameron I was thinking about moving in with you, just now. I guess that's plenty of rumor-fodder for the next week or so."

"Aw, Jimmy, you really are thinking about it?" House bit into the other half of Wilson's sandwich.

"House, you've got your own!" Wilson said indignantly. He reached out and flicked House on the arm.

House flicked back, and then grasped Wilson's hand, interlacing their fingers together. Wilson smiled despite himself, and moved his thumb to stroke House's palm gently. House let out a small affected groan and closed his eyes.

"When the two of you have finished behaving like newlyweds," Cuddy's voice interrupted, and both House and Wilson jumped. "You've got clinic duty, House. It starts at two. Be on time for once."

House opened his eyes and looked at the clock. "It's only quarter to! I'm not even late yet!" His voice was aggrieved, and he hadn't let go of Wilson's hand; Wilson smiled up at Cuddy apologetically. Cuddy rolled her eyes and walked away.

"And what's this with the newlywed stuff?" House continued talking to Wilson in an undertone. "Anyone would think-"

He stopped suddenly. Wilson recognized a _eureka_ moment, and waited patiently for the reveal.

"Anyone would think that there was a betting pool on it," House said slowly.

Wilson groaned.

"Chase!" House said through gritted teeth. He let go of Wilson's hand, got up, grabbed his cane, and strode away.

* * *

"It's not me!" Chase protested vainly. House had him cornered in the surgical team locker room.

"But there's a betting pool somewhere," House pressed.

Chase nodded with reluctance. "Radiology don't seem to feel their lives are complete unless they've got a pool going about you two."

"I should have known," House said in disgust. "Details, right now, or I tell Cameron you've been making eyes at Marco over the pharmacy counter—and why the current flurry of excitement?"

Chase shrugged. "Well, until this morning, you could speculate on three things: when the two of you might move in together, when you might get engaged, or when the full civil union commitment ceremony thing might happen. The pool stopped taking bets on the moving in thing just this morning, after someone put quite a lot of money on that happening in the next few months."

"That would be Cameron," House said, recalling what Wilson had said.

"Uh, no, actually. She went right along to do that after she talked to Wilson earlier, but she was too late. Someone else had already put in the big bet, I don't know who it was, and they'd closed that one."

"Really." House was surprised. He thought for a minute about possibilities and scowled. "Alright, Chase. Don't you dare mention that moving in bet thing to Wilson; he really is thinking about it and I don't want to scare him off."

House told Wilson that it was Radiology up to their old tricks and that people were betting on them getting married. He didn't mention the moving in thing.

* * *

A couple of weeks later, House and Wilson had been out in House's car and House was dropping Wilson back at his hotel in the evening. House stopped outside the hotel and Wilson said unexpectedly, "Come up for coffee."

"Your coffee doesn't deserve the honorable name of coffee," House complained. "Brown water would be a better description."

"Oh come on," Wilson coaxed, and House reluctantly parked, got out of the car and followed Wilson into the hotel lobby.

Instead of heading straight for the elevator though, Wilson stopped at the reception and said with a friendly smile to the receptionist, "Hi, Jemima."

Trust Wilson to know all the hotel staff, House thought idly. Though of course Wilson had been living here longer than most of them had been working here.

"Jemima, I was wondering if you could tell me when I'm paid up until?" Wilson asked.

Suddenly House saw what was coming. He froze, standing a foot behind Wilson, leaning on his cane.

"Of course, Dr. Wilson." Jemima tapped at the computer keyboard. "Three more weeks, or until the end of this month. Another extension, Dr. Wilson?"

"Actually, no." Wilson took a deep breath. "I'll be moving out after that. Perhaps you could make a note, and make sure I get a final bill for then? Thanks, Jemima."

Wilson turned round, looking rather sheepish. House stared at him, unbelieving, then said, "Wilson, you _beauty_."

"Shall we go upstairs?" Wilson said, a little self-consciously, and led the way towards the elevator.

Once inside Wilson's room, House wrapped himself around Wilson and held him tight, muttering, "About fucking time, too."

Wilson laughed, and said into House's shoulder, "You're gonna have to move some stuff out of your closet, you know."

"I thought we got out of the closet a long time ago." House moved in for the kiss.

The two of them stood there for a long moment, then Wilson disentangled himself gently, said, "Back in a minute," and headed towards the bathroom.

House kicked off his sneakers, took off his jacket and dropped it on a chair. He then moved towards the bed, groped in the bedside cabinet to find the lube, and then sprawled across the blanket. It had been neatly made up and tucked in by the hotel maid. House tugged the bed covers loose impatiently. _This_ was why he couldn't stand Wilson living here; so goddamn uniform and sterile and just not conducive to hot sex, for the most part.

Then Wilson came out of the bathroom, and House stared in amazement. Wilson was no longer wearing the dress shirt, smart pants and tie he'd gone in with. He was now wearing a T-shirt—one of House's T-shirts, in fact the one House had worn yesterday to work. House recalled dropping it on his bedroom floor last night. It was black with a gold print; it hung slightly too big on Wilson, falling off his shoulders and round his hips, just covering his ass.

He wasn't wearing anything else.

He looked incredibly fuckable.

House felt an instant erection. This wasn't lost on Wilson, who joked, "Perhaps I should dress like this more often."

"Hell no. I'd never get any work done," said House, hearing a slight shake in his voice. "Anyway, you've got your dorkish reputation to uphold." _And nobody else should see you like this except me. Ever._

Wilson laughed, and came over to the bed. House was sitting leaning back against the headboard, still fully clothed; Wilson knelt on the covers next to House. They kissed gently, and House moved his face down to Wilson's chest, nuzzling through the T-shirt, breathing in his own sweat and Wilson's cologne. House reached underneath the T-shirt, running his hands up Wilson's chest and down his ass, and over Wilson's cock, now pulsing up against the fabric.

House then slouched down the headboard, pushed Wilson's T-shirt up so it covered House's head, and took Wilson's cock in his mouth, lapping, sucking, nibbling. House slicked his hand with lube and started to finger-fuck Wilson gently, while Wilson muttered, _"God, House, yeah,"_ above him. House could feel his own cock starting to push fiercely inside his pants.

After a few minutes House pulled back and gasped, "Gotta fuck you like this."

Wilson nodded, breathless. House swiftly pulled off his own clothes and rolled on a condom. Wilson leaned forward and gripped the headboard. House moved up behind Wilson and eased his cock up Wilson's ass. Wilson hissed through his teeth. House put his hands over Wilson's hands and started to thrust, leaning with all his might on his hands and his good leg and on Wilson's body. House felt the T-shirt, now sweaty and clinging to Wilson's back, rubbing against his chest. Soon Wilson would be living with him, around all the time, they could be doing this _all_—_the_—_time;_ House came with a final frenzied thrust, driving deep inside Wilson.

House pulled out and collapsed on the bed next to Wilson, heart pounding, and his leg pulsing. Wilson, panting, rolled onto his side. House tried to summon up enough energy to reach up to Wilson, but Wilson waved him away and House watched through half-shut eyes as Wilson finished himself off with a couple of deft hand movements, coming all over that T-shirt.

Afterwards, as they lay close together and half-asleep, House mumbled, "Tell me you were the one who put a large amount of money on moving in with me on the Radiology Betting Pool a few weeks ago."

"Mmmm?" Wilson murmured. "No. Didn't know I could've done. Should I have?"

"Hmph." House was puzzled now. "Somebody did. It wasn't you? Under some appropriate pseudonym?"

"Not me." Wilson yawned. "Sorry to disappoint you. I didn't even know you could bet on me moving in. Though I'm flattered you thought it might have been me."

"Huh. I'd have claimed half if it _had_ been you, of course," House retorted. "Who'd you tell that you were thinking about it? Apart from Cameron."

"Nobody." Wilson's eyes were closed.

"Hmph," House said again, and let it go, as his own eyelids refused to stay open any longer.

* * *

Next morning, Chase was sitting in the staff room flipping through a magazine when in came House and Wilson. House sat down on the couch next to Chase; Wilson hovered in front of him.

"Chase, I was wondering if you could do me a favor," Wilson said brightly. "I'm gonna be moving at the end of this month, would you mind giving me a hand moving my stuff?"

"Sure. No problem." Chase looked at Wilson, then at House. "Moving... far?"

"You know perfectly well where he's moving to," House said, his eyes glinting in satisfaction.

"Ah," Chase said knowingly.

"Yeah," Wilson confirmed. "And you also know that House won't lift a finger to actually help me pack or anything, so—"

"Hey! Cripple with a cane!" House said indignantly, tapping it on the floor between his feet for emphasis. "You expect me to go heaving boxes around like this?"

"No, I expect you to sit on the sidelines giving directions and eating all the donuts," Wilson said, deadpan.

"Of course I'll help," Chase said hastily. He leaned back on the sofa with his elbows, and added, "So, I guess Henry can collect his winnings now."

"Henry!" House and Wilson said together, surprised.

"That sly bastard," House said with a mixture of annoyance and admiration. "Wait 'til I see him next."

"He played a good game," Chase remarked, and then looked hopeful. "I guess the engagement and marriage pools are still open. Any chance of a heads up? I'll cut you in."

"Of course you would," said House. "But one thing at a time." He looked at Wilson. "That's a whole 'nother story."

TBC


	5. The Marriage Sweepstake

TITLE: The House/Wilson First Fuck Marriage Sweepstake  
AUTHOR: hwshipper  
DISCLAIMER: All characters belong to Heel and Toe Films, Shore Z Productions and Bad Hat Harry Productions in association with Universal Media Studios.  
SUMMARY: The PPTH House/Wilson betting pool saga reaches its logical conclusion.  
BETA: enormous love to bornbeautiful for seeing this series through!

**The House/Wilson First Fuck Marriage Sweepstake**

Wilson enlisted both Chase and Foreman to help him move in the end, as he had a few large items that needed two people to carry them, and it went without saying that House would play the cripple card for all he was worth. Along with items in his hotel room, which didn't actually amount to very much, Wilson kept some belongings in a rented storage locker since his last divorce, and it was this he was emptying now. Foreman initially loftily said he wouldn't be free, but showed on the day; Wilson thought that he was afraid of missing something.

Wilson had done the hard work in advance. At least he thought he had, having forced House to empty half his closet and give over a reasonable amount of shelf space too. House had moaned and whined about doing it, but in the end Wilson thought the de-cluttering had done House some good, too.

Wilson unpacked and found places for things with confidence at first, but as the day progressed Chase and Foreman kept arriving with more items. First House, then Wilson, started to express doubt that it would all fit.

"I'm starting to think this place ain't big enough for the two of us," House said ominously.

"You shared it with Stacy for five years," Wilson pointed out. "You're not telling me I've got more stuff than she did."

"Well, you're about even on shoes," House said judiciously. "But you obviously have more hair care products than she did."

"That can't possibly be true." Wilson was indignant. He was sure Stacy had had far more shoes than he did.

The last thing Chase and Foreman brought in was a large anonymous square wooden packing case, and as there was nowhere else to put it, they dumped it unceremoniously in the middle of House's living room.

"Oh great," House said sarcastically. "Now we have to furnish this whole room round this thing. I could do with a new coffee table. What on earth have you got in there, anyway?"

Wilson consulted a list, because of course Wilson had a list. "Books and CDs."

"Well that's good because I was thinking there was a shortage of books and CDs in this place," House said, waving an arm at the shelves, which were bulging at the seams.

"I'll download the CDs to my iPod and then get rid of them," Wilson said soothingly.

House didn't look pacified. "And you can take the books in to your office. I had no idea you had so much crap in that storage locker. Have you actually given up the rental yet?"

"Yes, House," Wilson said, sharpness creeping into his voice for the first time. "If I'd kept it, you'd have just accused me of keeping a bolt hole and not committing enough to this."

Chase and Foreman looked at each other and simultaneously started to edge towards the door. Cameron, however, entered at that moment with a large smile and an even larger box of Krispy Kreme Doughnuts and stopped them in their tracks.

The argument was swiftly shelved as House dived to claim the donut with chocolate sprinkles. Chase and Foreman each took a donut and sat down on the packing case, which was large enough to accommodate them both. Chase, seeking a change of subject, remarked that now that Wilson had finished moving in, Henry would be claiming his winnings today on the cohabitation pool. House, his mouth full of donut, mumbled something about "the fucking cheek of it."

"You know, Radiology are restructuring the whole pool now," Chase carried on. "They didn't want to carry on letting people pick dates for your engagement and civil union. They seemed to think after the Henry thing that people might get inside information."

"Suspect number one," Foreman said, pointing at Chase.

"Anyway, it's now going to be a sweepstake," Chase said hastily. "A prize draw. They're dividing the next twelve years into three-month periods, and everyone who wants in gets to draw a period randomly. Whoever's got the period when you get engaged takes half the pool, whoever's got it when the civil union happens gets the other half." He looked embarrassed. "_If_ it happens, of course."

House snorted. "Well, now I know why nobody's managed to cure cancer. It's because all human ingenuity is going into devising entertainment based on mine and Wilson's _lives_."

"Why is it over the next twelve years?" Cameron was inquisitive.

"There's about fifty people in the pool so it works out quite nicely. Also takes us through to House reaching sixty, when it's widely assumed he'd retire," Chase explained. "Last options are post-retirement, and never."

"For Christ's sake!" House looked more indignant than ever.

"So what periods have you three got?" Wilson asked, licking jelly off his fingers.

"They haven't done the draw yet," Chase said. "They're waiting until after you've actually moved in, so I guess it'll be done pretty soon."

House leaned over to lick jelly off Wilson's fingers. "Don't hold your breath, any of you."

* * *

Wilson decided he couldn't face emptying the large packing chest right now, so it was left where it was. Cameron found a large piece of fabric in one of Wilson's boxes and threw it decoratively over the chest to disguise it. ("You own a throw?" House asked with scorn. Wilson protested without much conviction that it was a blanket).

After Chase, Cameron and Foreman had left, Wilson sat down on the packing case, looking tired. He rubbed his eyes and then lay backwards on the chest, feet still on the floor. He put his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling, apparently wondering what the hell he'd done.

House watched him, and mentally added this picture to his list of _Wilson looking fucking irresistible_. Wilson was clad in jeans and a casual shirt, hot and sweaty with shirtsleeves rolled up after an afternoon shifting boxes, hair plastered over his forehead, half-sprawled on a large box in the middle of the living room floor.

"I need to take a shower—" Wilson started to say, and stopped abruptly when his view of the ceiling was replaced by a pair of bright blue eyes suddenly only a few inches from his own. A few seconds later House was on top of him, pinning him down hard against the packing case, House's chest pressed against Wilson's chest and his groin pushed snugly down against Wilson's groin.

"Um," Wilson said, before House's mouth came down on his.

House released Wilson's lips a moment later, and muttered, "You can get dirtier than this before taking a shower."

Wilson's eyes dissolved into glinting brown pools of desire, and he muttered back, "Bedroom?"

"Naw." House shifted his weight a little, leaning on his good leg, rubbing his crotch up against Wilson's. "Nothing like a bit of hard wood underneath you for some good friction."

Wilson snorted with laughter, then reached down to undo House's fly, then his own. House shut his eyes and clenched his teeth at the feeling of his cock rubbing up against Wilson's, Wilson's body pinned and barely able to move underneath his own. Fuck, he could just never get enough of this. And now Wilson was living here, he could have Wilson like this or however he wanted, whenever he wanted.

House moved up and down, gently at first, then harder, feeling Wilson's breathing get faster and breathier with each roll, and then a gasp of _"Mmmmph-House-"_ before Wilson's body jerked convulsively as he came. House, just a few seconds behind, moaned _"Sweet Jesus Christ,"_ into Wilson's neck.

The two of them lay together for a while afterwards, panting at first, breathing gradually slowing, relaxing. House rolled off of Wilson but stayed pressed up against him. There wasn't a lot of room and he would have rolled off the case otherwise.

After a few minutes House said, apropos of nothing, "So I guess Radiology will be doing their sweepstake draw now. Those fuckers think of everything. Betcha anything that if we ever get married they'll start up a divorce pool."

Wilson was silent for a moment, then said, "It's not gonna happen."

"What, marriage or divorce?" House asked, his tone light.

"House, if we were ever to get married there is no fucking way I'd ever get divorced again."

House grinned into the dim light. After a while, he asked, "Did you propose to each one of your wives? The whole get-down-on-bended-knee, here's-a-ring thing?"

"Sure did. And after my last divorce, I swore I'd never do it again." Wilson patted House on the arm. "You ever want to get married, you'll have to be the one asking me."

* * *

A couple of days later, Chase bumped into Wilson in a hospital corridor and asked in conversation, "You manage to get rid of that packing case yet?"

"Uh, no," Wilson answered with a straight face. "We thought we'd leave it where it is for a bit."

* * *

The exact details of the House/Wilson marriage sweepstake were kept a state secret by the Radiology department, who were determined not to let House have any influence on this one. House soon discovered there was no need to snoop around to discover who had what period of time, as people with an interest gave themselves away readily enough with questions and hints to both himself and Wilson.

Some six months after Wilson had moved in, House discovered, while eavesdropping on a conversation between his staff, that they were now in the time period that Taub had drawn. Also that Kutner's slot was some way off, and Thirteen was pissed as she had pulled practically the last available date in twelve years time.

The following day House faked a splendidly elaborate phone call to his mother, at a time when he knew Taub was in the conference room next door and the door between them was open a crack.

"Hi Mom. Guess who? How'd'ya guess? Ah of course, no-one else calls you Mom!" House laughed into the receiver. "Yeah... I know it's been a while since I last called," House went on solemnly. "But I do have some news, you see." He paused and chuckled, twisting the telephone wire back and forth. "Yeah. You got it. Civil unions, that's what they call them here." He paused again. He was fairly sure he could see Taub out of the corner of his eye, peering surreptitiously through the door. "Well, we've talked about it on and off ever since Wilson moved in. Yeah, we've been getting along very well." Pause. "We haven't decided yet, but just a small ceremony. Soon though, within the next couple of months, definitely." Another pause. "I'll phone you again when I've got more details. Thanks Mom, I knew we'd have your blessing! Maybe you can break it to Dad and let me know when he comes down from the roof. Bye."

House hung up and was careful not to look towards the door straight away. A few minutes later, he chanced a glance; Taub had gone.

House hummed happily to himself, picked up his Gameboy and began a new game.

A couple of hours later, Wilson came in and sat down opposite, wearing an _annoyed, but amused _expression.

"House, you are an absolute _bastard_."

"Thanks," House said brightly, and put down the Gameboy in anticipation. "What have I done to deserve such a compliment?"

"You know perfectly well," Wilson said, and smiled despite his best effort not to. "I was doing such a useful afternoon's work, when in came Taub, with Kutner and Thirteen and two of the Radiology Department secretaries..."

Oh Christ, Taub had told the others and gone straight to Radiology without even checking with Wilson first. House chortled. Taub really wasn't as smart as he thought himself to be.

"...Taub blabbering about this phone call he'd heard you make to your mother." Wilson rolled his eyes. "And the secretaries all excited, while trying not to be."

"I so wish I'd been there," House said sincerely.

"Too right you should've been there," Wilson said severely. "Anyway, Taub flung out his arm," Wilson flung out his own arm to demonstrate, "and said, all dramatic, _'Tell them, Dr. Wilson!'_ So I told them you'd evaded a phone call from your mother just last night by pretending to have lost your voice, and it was most unlikely you'd be phoning her today. And I asked what were you supposed to be phoning her about anyway? At this point Taub suddenly turned bright pink and said, _'Oh crap.'"_

House's grin was wicked. "He didn't say what he'd heard?"

"Like it wasn't obvious, with the Radiology secretaries there, and one of them had the book under her arm." Wilson couldn't help but smile again. "Taub tried to back out of the room, but Thirteen and Kutner decided it would be funny to tell me what he'd heard. Taub had fallen for it, hook line and sinker, but they'd believed it too, when he told them. I said, in a kindly way, that they might not have worked with you that long, but they really should learn."

"Kindly Dr. Wilson, setting them straight." House picked up his Gameboy again. "I guess it didn't occur to you to play along with it, for a bit."

Wilson looked carefully at House. "No, it didn't occur to me."

House shrugged and switched on his Gameboy. Wilson watched House for a long minute, and then left the room.

* * *

Poker night was just finishing as Wilson breezed cheerfully into the apartment.

Wilson had now been living there a year; things hadn't always gone smoothly, but House hadn't kicked him out once, and Wilson had only stormed out twice, and been back within a couple of days each time. Overall, all was well. Moving in hadn't changed the fact that Wilson was still banned from House's Thursday night poker sessions, but Wilson had confided in Henry that found he quite liked having an evening once a week to himself anyway.

"Hi guys," Wilson sang out as he walked into the kitchen. He was carrying a bag of groceries.

"Hi Wilson," they chorused from their seats round the kitchen table, except for Bus Stop Guy who was occupied in counting his winnings.

House was stood leaning on the counter. Wilson came to put the bag down, and he and House exchanged a kiss. Henry and the other guys round the table exchanged smiles.

"Bad night?" Wilson asked.

"Cards all against me," House said mournfully. He brightened up at the sight of the grocery bag. "What've you brought me? Any ice cream in there?"

"Groceries, practical stuff, like fruit and vegetables," Wilson said severely.

House started to poke inside the bag anyway. "I hope you got toothpaste. We ran out this morning."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Yes, I got toothpaste. Not that it would have hurt you to buy some yourself if you noticed we were out."

"Like you'd let me buy toothpaste anyway," House said, unperturbed. "You can only bear to use that sensitive teeth stuff. Being such a sensitive kinda guy. Ah!" He'd found a tub of Ben & Jerry's; Wilson, who had picked it out especially for House to find, smiled at House indulgently. House grabbed the tub and opened a drawer to look for a spoon.

"You two jawing sound just like me and my old lady," Bus Stop Guy piped up, apparently emboldened by his good fortune.

"Shut the fuck up," House said, rooting through the drawer.

"What a lovely image," Wilson said, straight-faced.

"Like an old married couple, aren't they," Henry put in mischievously.

"Your sweepstake time coming up, is it?" House stuck a spoon in the ice-cream tub. Henry knew this was an idle remark; House was aware that the previous winners of the Radiology betting pools (Henry, Cuddy and Nurse Brenda) had all been excluded from the current sweepstake.

"I've always said the same," Dry Cleaner guy commented to Henry, encouraged by Bus Stop Guy's example. "When Wilson brings all the shirts in on a Saturday? Picture of domestic bliss."

"Haven't you all got homes to go to?" House said darkly.

"I guess you'll be doing your taxes jointly next year?" Tax Accountant asked.

"God, it's just like being at work," House groaned through a mouthful of ice cream. "So sorry to disappoint you all, but Wilson and me are not engaged, nor do we have forthcoming plans for marriage or civil unions or whatever the fuck it's called these days."

"I'm no lawyer," said Tax Accountant, "but if you're not doing the whole civil union thing, you oughtta at least think about making wills, if you haven't already. You own this place, don't you, House?"

House inclined his head forward a notch.

"Well, I did taxes for these two guys, lived together for ten years," Tax Accountant went on. "They were always useless at their returns, never kept any paper. Hated bureaucracy. One of them fell under a bus last year, their condo was in his name, and without a will it went to his father, who came round and threw his partner out on the street. No rights, even though he'd helped pay off the mortgage for God knows how many years. Sad fucking case it was."

Henry saw Wilson actually shiver, as if a cold chill had swept unexpectedly through the room.

House looked at Wilson, and in a gentle tone, as if nobody else was in the room, said, "My dad's an asshole, but he's not that much of an asshole."

Then, louder, speaking to the whole room now, House went on, "Thank fuck I _have_ got a will and it all goes to Wilson."

Henry saw genuine surprise on Wilson's face, and then Wilson asked quietly, "Since when, House?"

"Since this happened." House pointed to his bad leg. "New medical proxy, new will. Who else was I going to leave stuff to? My tart of a cousin? The hospital that had just crippled me?"

"I had no idea," Wilson said, wonderingly, and then louder, "Well, that's great to know, especially as you're _my_ sole beneficiary."

It was House's turn to look surprised, and echo, "Since when?"

"Since the ink dried on my last set of divorce papers."

House stuck the ice cream spoon in his mouth thoughtfully. Then he looked round the room and said, "Well, now everyone present knows that if either of us dies in suspicious circumstances you need to check that the other one isn't guilty of murder. Now fuck off home, the lot of you."

Tax Accountant, Dry Cleaner and Bus Stop Guy got to their feet, pulled on coats and headed obediently off. Henry followed suit, a little more slowly; he usually stayed behind a bit after poker to chat with Wilson as well as House, but somehow tonight didn't seem like a night that they'd welcome company.

* * *

A week after that poker night, House and Wilson were out in House's car during lunchtime when Wilson realized, abruptly, that they weren't going to a restaurant as he'd thought they were after all.

"House, we're not breaking into someone's apartment again, are we? You haven't even got a patient at the moment."

"And I've got staff to do it for me if I had," House agreed, taking a left turn. "You'll soon see."

They arrived at an anonymous office building, housing various different companies. Wilson followed House down several corridors, bewildered, until they arrived at a door with a plaque proclaiming it was a law firm.

"House, you haven't gotten arrested again, have you?"

"No, and if I had I wouldn't come here; this is a conveyancing firm," House declared, pushing open the door. He said to the receptionist inside, "Dr. Gregory House; I have an appointment."

"A conveyancing firm?" Wilson asked blankly, as they were led inside an office.

"Yeah. I'm putting _our_ apartment into both our names, as joint owners."

"No!" Wilson was dumbstruck. He caught House's arm. "House, are you _sure_?"

"Yeah." House stopped and looked at Wilson. "I don't think my dad's that big an asshole, but I wouldn't want you to find out that he is if I'm not there. And let's face it, one way or another, I'm going first. I'm older than you, crippled, drug-addicted, and ride a motorcycle."

"Not to mention you've got a habit of sticking knives into electric sockets," Wilson couldn't help but say. "And having dodgy blood transfusions. And so on."

"That too. Anyway," House shrugged. "It's the right thing to do."

Wilson was silent, taking in the enormity of such a large and significant step. Then he said, "You know I'd do the same for you. If my wives had left me any assets, that is."

"Instead of which I expect the world's best blow-job tonight," House said, in full hearing of the receptionist.

* * *

Some six months later, on an ordinary working day at the hospital, Wilson fell into step with House in the corridor.

"House, I'll be back a bit late this evening. I'm having a drink after work with a friend of Kutner's from medical school. He's thinking about going into oncology and Kutner asked me to have a chat with him."

"Always the one to help," House grumbled. "Can't you talk to him here?"

"He's only in Princeton for a night and he's busy during the day, flying visit," Wilson explained. "I said I'd meet him in his hotel bar."

"Does that mean I have to wait for dinner?" House complained.

"Maybe. Although you could always start cooking it yourself, of course."

"Maybe I won't be that hungry."

"Of course not," Wilson said with a smile, and headed away towards his office.

House headed off for a reluctant session of clinic duty. It was late afternoon by the time he got rid of the last vomiting child, and he would normally have gladly gone home straight afterwards, but found himself uneasy about Wilson for no reason he could put his finger on. Maybe it was some passing remark of Kutner's that had spooked him, though House couldn't recall anything specific. House hung around his office for a while, and then had a look on Wilson's calendar to check his whereabouts. He then headed out, got his bike, and drove off to the hotel where Wilson had gone.

Once there, House headed through the lobby and found the bar off to one side. He paused at the door, looking around. He saw Wilson sitting at the bar, perched on a stool, talking to another man.

House's worst fears were confirmed; Kutner's friend was young, good looking, and damned if he wasn't flirting with Wilson right now—leaning in, smiling at something Wilson was saying.

House had a choice—barge in right now and nip this in the bud before there was even the slightest chance of anything happening, or go sit at the bar on the other side of that handy wooden pillar and try and hear what Wilson was saying.

After a few minutes spent sneaking round the side of the room, House was seated at the bar on the other side of the pillar, a glass of whisky in front of him. He had waved the barman over and managed to convey the brand he wanted and that he wanted it on the rocks, without saying a word. He couldn't see Wilson but he could hear him well. Right now Wilson was talking seriously about life as an oncologist; the tragedy of breaking the bad news to people, especially parents; the agony of seeing so many patients die; how rewarding it was when a patient went into remission; the triumph when a once sick child went home to lead an almost normal life.

Kutner's friend went _uh-huh_ in all the right places and asked a few intelligent questions. House sipped his whisky and started to think he was worrying about nothing.

Then the conversation reached a natural end, and House heard Wilson say, "Well, I hope that was of some use to you. Good luck, I hope you make the right decision for you." There was a clink of a glass being set down. "I'd better be off home now."

"I was wondering if you'd like to do dinner," Kutner's friend said.

House froze with his glass mid-air towards his mouth.

There was a pause, and House really, really wished he could see what was happening. He assumed that they were exchanging looks, that Wilson was raising those bushy eyebrows of his to say _by dinner do you mean _...

"I don't think that would be a good idea," Wilson said eventually, his tone slightly apologetic but quite firm.

House let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and put the glass down on the bar with a shaking hand.

"Well, if you say so," the other man said, sounding regretful. "Kutner said you live with his boss, Dr. House?"

"That's right," Wilson said readily.

"If even half what I've heard about House is true... he must be an _interesting_ guy to live with. Have you known him long?"

"More than twenty years," Wilson said, and House knew without needing to see that Wilson's left hand would have stolen to his right hand, to touch that ring that House had given him on their twentieth anniversary. House looked at his own ring on his own right hand. Suddenly he really wished that they wore these rings on their left hands. That would have told this fucker, and anyone else waiting in the wings, that Wilson was seriously off-limits.

"That's quite a while," the other man said in an admiring tone. "Well, if you change your mind, I don't have any plans tonight, and I'm here in room 317."

"I'm flattered, thank you, but I'm not changing my mind. I do have to go now." Wilson's tone was charming, but still firm. There was a rustling noise and then the sound of the bar stool scraping on the floor. House guessed Wilson had stood up to go. "Nice meeting you. Have a good evening."

House sat very still, not daring to look over his shoulder as Wilson headed out of the room. A minute later he dared to look, then relaxed; Wilson had gone. Kutner's friend was still sitting at the bar. As House watched, he struck up a cheerful conversation with the barman.

House drained the rest of his whisky and left, his mind whirling. As he got on his bike, House found, to his surprise, that what he wanted to do more than anything in the world was get home, find Wilson, tell him what he'd seen, and say, _"Marry me, you idiot."_

But he knew that would be a bad idea. Because Wilson would know he was doing it in a fit of jealousy, would be angry that House had spied on him. He might even flounce out and go back to that hotel and find room 317—no, he wouldn't do that. Wilson had behaved absolutely impeccably at the bar, House knew. It had now been a year and a half since they'd started living together; rationally, House knew that Wilson got hit on all the time, he was far too pretty for this not to be the case, and he had perfected the art of brushing people off politely.

House knew full well that Wilson had proposed to his ex-wives for a variety of bad reasons (parental expectations, pity, being on the rebound, and at the heart of all of them, a pathetic desire to please). Undoubtedly House proposing out of jealousy would be another bad reason. Well, it _was_ a bad reason. But—and House came slowly to this realization in the course of his ride home—it wasn't _actually_ the reason.

When he'd heard that guy try and hit on Wilson... of course House had been jealous, he always had been jealous about Wilson. But it was more than that. It cut to the core of _why_ House was always jealous. That he couldn't imagine being without Wilson by his side, lurking in the next-door office, curled up next to him at night. The idea that it might ever not be like that made House feel sick; he couldn't comprehend how terrible it would be, because they were meant to be together. They'd both forgotten that many times over the years, and often when one of them had remembered it, the other had been otherwise occupied. But they were now closer than they'd been to a real commitment, to forever.

And House knew if they were ever going to seal that, _he_ would have to be the one doing the asking.

House arrived back at the apartment, and found Wilson in the kitchen just starting dinner.

"Hey, House, I beat you home after all. Working late?"

"Yeah. How was Kutner's buddy?" House asked, offhandedly, kicking off his sneakers.

"Fine. Don't think he should become an oncologist though." Wilson put the lid on a saucepan and turned to face House. "Also, he hit on me! I was quite surprised. You might want to give Kutner some grief about that. He could've warned me that might happen."

House, relieved beyond words that Wilson had told him, expressed mock outrage and assured Wilson that Kutner would be in his bad books for a long time.

He then sat and watched Wilson cook dinner, and pondered how he would ask Wilson to marry him.

* * *

They got married on a blustery day, when the wind played havoc, sweeping House's hair into a tangled mess and flipping Wilson's hair repeatedly over his left ear on the way up the steps into the city hall. House wore a dark suit and Wilson wore a light suit. House wore the red tie Wilson had given him all those years ago for the Tritter trial; Wilson wore a tie House had picked out (though not paid for, naturally) especially for the occasion, on the grounds that Wilson's own ties were all just too ugly. The shirts were old, the suits were new, they'd each borrowed sets of cuff links off Henry. And Wilson's tie and House's shirt (the one Cuddy liked, that matched his eyes) were blue.

They had two witnesses, nobody else present—Cuddy in a gorgeous, skin-tight ivory shift dress, huge smile and big hair, and Henry, shuffling round awkwardly and looking like the slightly dodgy uncle who didn't know quite what wedding he was at. Cuddy looked after House's ring; Henry looked after Wilson's, each stepping forward at the right moment, to allow House and Wilson in turn to place each antique ring on the third finger of their left hands. They each, of course, still had their non-matching twentieth anniversary rings on their right hands. The ceremony was short, and sweet, and Cuddy took photographs of them afterwards, standing on the steps outside and kissing, the wind ruffling their hair and blowing House's tie over his shoulder.

After the ceremony, the four of them went out for dinner and then to a small, smoky basement jazz club in the evening. They sat and sipped single malts and House smoked a cigar, and occasionally House would rest a hand on Wilson's knee, or Wilson reach out and touch House's shoulder, and Cuddy and Henry would exchange beaming looks of approval. Late in the evening House was persuaded to play the piano in the corner. He thumped out a couple of rollocking tunes, then abruptly went all soulful and romantic with the next piece, playing with his gaze directed firmly at Wilson and not at the piano keys, and Wilson sat and looked back at House with smoldering eyes.

Henry snapped a photo of House and Wilson together after the ceremony on his phone, and also managed to get a surreptitious shot of their civil union certificate when neither of them was looking. He didn't often use the camera on his phone (his grandchildren had had to show him how to use it) and he was pleased that the resulting pictures were OK.

Henry forwarded the pictures on to Kutner as promised the next day, and Kutner took them in triumph to the Radiology department to claim his winnings.

END

[A/N: The story of how House actually proposed to Wilson is in a separate fic you can read from my profile - Inanimate Objects: Five times House asked Wilson to marry him (and one time he didn't).

This is the end of this story! Hope you all enjoyed the ride!


	6. The Wedding Night

**Title**: The House/Wilson Wedding Night  
**Disclaimer**: All characters belong to Heel and Toe Films, Shore Z Productions and Bad Hat Harry Productions in association with Universal Media Studios.  
**A/N:** Written for gethouselaid prompt 019. House/Wilson -- wedding night; bonus points if a desperate Cameron makes an appearance. I claim my bonus points! And thanks to triedunture for a steer on desperate!Cameron.  
**Beta:** bornbeautiful wonderful as ever

**The House/Wilson Wedding Night**

The basement jazz club was crowded and smoky. House was playing the piano in the corner, thumping out some blues with one eye on the keyboard and the other on Wilson. Wilson was sitting relaxed and chatting in a booth with Cuddy and Henry. Wilson had taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, though he was still wearing his tie. His hair was smoothed awkwardly over to one side where he'd slicked it down against the wind earlier. House had tugged his own tie off hours before, though it was folded quite neatly, for House, and resting safely in his pocket.

House had rarely felt so content; doing something he loved in a place that he liked, the taste of good quality single malt whisky in his mouth and cigar smoke on his breath. The few people he really knew were his friends were nearby, and among them his new _husband_.

A thrill shot though House at the thought, and he glanced down at his left hand, at the heavy gold ring on his finger. Un-fucking-believable. After all these years, they'd finally gone and done it. And he had the civil union certificate in his pocket to prove it. James Wilson really was finally _his_; legally, in front of the world. Well, in front of Cuddy and Henry, anyway. They'd kept it quiet from just about everybody else. Just for now. News would slide out gradually next week that they weren't just away on vacation; they were on their honeymoon.

They weren't due to go away until Monday though; tonight it was back to their apartment (_their _apartment; House savored the fact; he still occasionally caught himself thinking of it as his, and had to correct himself) for their wedding night. And House was very much looking forward to that.

He switched to play a more soulful tune. Wilson looked up, and the two of them locked eyes. House held Wilson's gaze; looked into those enormous brown eyes, full of affection, pleasure and desire, and decided it was time to go home. He finished the piece with a flourish, stood up to scattered applause, and made his way back to the booth.

Wilson was already pulling on his jacket as House approached. House heard him say to Cuddy and Henry, "--time to go."

"It certainly is," House said briskly, arriving at Wilson's side. He threw an arm around Wilson's waist, and was delighted when Wilson smiled, put a hand on his shoulder and moved towards him for a kiss. Their lips met briefly but tenderly. To have reached this point, of open, loving intimacy, after all this time--it just couldn't get any better than this.

"Well, have a wonderful evening," Cuddy said, sipping from her glass. "And have a great time on your honeymoon next week. Congratulations, both of you!"

"Congratulations!" Henry echoed. House picked up his own jacket from a chair. "Remind us where you're going again?"

"Ha, nice try, Scooter," House responded immediately. He and Wilson had kept their destination very close to their chests. "It's sunny and sandy and it's a long way from here, and that's all you need to know. Call us a cab, will you?"

* * *

They rolled into their apartment, a little drunk, rather tired, but high on excitement and adrenalin. House was moving rather stiffly; it had been a long day and his leg had behaved admirably, but it was bothering him a little. Wilson knew, of course.

"Thirsty," House declared as they came in, and Wilson led the way into the kitchen. He poured them both tall glasses of water, while House sat down at the kitchen table, yanked off his jacket, kicked off his shoes, and stretched out his leg. He then finished the glass in a few gulps. Wilson sat down next to him, and sipped more slowly.

They sat there for a minute in comfortable silence. House looked at Wilson's left hand, resting on the tabletop, curled round the glass of water. The thick antique gold ring gleamed on his finger. House felt a surge of pleasure at this visible sign of what they'd done today. He reached across the table with his own left hand, and gently clinked his own ring against Wilson's. Wilson clinked back, then turned over his hand to interlace his fingers with House's. Wilson's fingers were cold where they'd been touching the glass; House warmed them with his own.

"It's nice seeing you in a suit for once," Wilson remarked.

"Suits you, sir," House responded, and reached up to tug Wilson's lapel. Wilson was wearing a new light-colored suit that flattered him extremely well, but House was thinking it had done its work now and could be dispensed. He slid a hand under the jacket onto Wilson's shoulder, feeling smooth cotton shirt under his palm. He pressed with his fingertips slightly, and Wilson closed his eyes momentarily. House reached out with his other hand and did the same to Wilson's other shoulder; still with his eyes closed, Wilson shrugged off the jacket.

House ran a finger under Wilson's collar, tracing over the curve of Wilson's neck. Wilson was still wearing his tie. House pulled gently at the expensive blue silk; Wilson reached out and unknotted it. House slid the tie away, dropping it on the kitchen table, then started to undo shirt buttons, deftly, with one hand; the other tracing its way down Wilson's chest.

"Wargh," Wilson said, at least that was what House heard. House finished the buttons, and moved to the shirt cuffs. Wilson, like House, was wearing cufflinks borrowed from Henry (who apparently had a large collection).

"You think Henry wants these back?" House said, admiring the smart gold bars.

"Um, yes. I don't think they were supposed to be wedding presents, if that's what you mean." Wilson twisted the bars and palmed the cuff links. "Here, let me take yours."

"Don't trust me not to walk off with them?" House said, a little smugly, but let Wilson undo them. Wilson ran a finger across the inside each of House's wrists as he did so. House felt the touch as a hotline down veins and arteries straight to his groin. He undid his own shirt buttons as Wilson turned to put the cuff links down, and pulled off his shirt.

"Let's go somewhere more comfortable," Wilson said, standing up.

Tonight was for a long, slow, comfortable fuck, and therefore best done in bed. "I suppose we have the rest of our lives to have hot impulsive sex in the kitchen," House remarked, following Wilson towards the bedroom.

"Absolutely," Wilson grinned.

In the bedroom, House reached out and hooked a finger through one of Wilson's belt loops. Wilson stayed still for a second, amused. "Want me on a leash?"

House tugged slightly. "Some other night, perhaps." God, he loved the feel of this. Wilson, all _his..._ He pulled Wilson towards him and slid a hand under the waistband of Wilson's pants, feeling a jutting hip and then the curve of a buttock.

"Can't fuck you through all these clothes," House muttered.

"Undress me, then," Wilson murmured, and House felt his cock stir again at Wilson's words and gentle, loving tone.

He undid Wilson's belt, and let the pants fall to the floor. Wilson stepped out of them and pulled off his socks. House could see Wilson's cock pushing up inside his boxer shorts. House hastened to remove the rest of his own clothes.

He was reaching out to strip away Wilson's boxer shorts, when there was a knock at the front door. Both House and Wilson ignored it, until a few seconds later there came the terrifying sound of a key scraping in the lock.

"You didn't leave that key above the door frame still--" Wilson exclaimed.

And then a thin female voice piping through the air: "House? It's Cameron!"

"Sweet Jesus Christ, Joseph and Mary Mother of God," House groaned heavily. He clambered off the bed and pulled on his bathrobe, a long robe that covered his leg. "I'll be right back. If you hear screams, I'm disemboweling her. Don't come to the rescue."

He walked into the living room without his cane, grasping furniture along the way, to find Cameron just entering through the door. Even in the dim light he could see enormous black rings around her eyes; mascara, bleeding in all directions. She was wearing a party dress that looked distinctly disheveled, and had a run in her stocking. She was also hobbling; she'd broken a heel off one of her shoes.

"House!" she said dramatically, and staggered a few paces towards him.

He put on his most menacing stare and stepped towards her, putting a hand on the back of the couch to support his weight. She stank of cheap white wine and he noticed her pupils were somewhat dilated.

"Cameron. You're pissed out of your skull and stoned."

"Cuddy said you got _married_ today! I had to come and ask you--is it true?" Her voice went up to a squeak at the end.

"Yes, it's true," House said, exasperated. "Which means you're interrupting my wedding night. So you can _fuck--right--off_ and go home _now_."

Cameron visibly wilted, and House thought for a second she was going to cry, but she blinked furiously a few times instead.

"House, I'm so sorry," said a new voice, and House turned to see Chase lurking in the doorway. Rather incongruously, he was holding a small black diamanté purse--Cameron's, House charitably assumed.

"We bumped into Cuddy and Henry in a bar--they told us," Chase continued in a tone of apology. "Cameron had already had a few drinks and she didn't take the news very well..."

"You're not fucking kidding me." House eyed Cameron warily. "She on the meth again?"

"I don't think so," Chase didn't sound very certain. "Allison, let's go."

"House--" Cameron started to say, but stopped abruptly, looking over House's shoulder towards the bedroom. House looked round, and his jaw dropped.

Wilson was standing in the doorway, and he hadn't bothered putting on any clothes for the sake of company. He was naked except for a small towel, and the towel wasn't even wrapped around him; he was simply holding it in front of him. It barely covered his crotch, and the entire left side of his body was exposed from head to foot; the street light outside leaked from the window and glinted down on his naked hip and thigh. He shifted slightly on his feet, exposing a slight curve of buttock. From the angle he was holding the towel, it didn't look like he'd lost his hard-on either.

"Everything okay, House?" he asked in a casual tone that House envied greatly.

"Yeah, they're just leaving." House heard his own voice had gone distinctly husky, much to his annoyance. He looked round to see that Chase had advanced into the room and was looking at Wilson with wide eyes; Cameron, apparently unable to bear the sight, had turned away and buried her face in Chase's shoulder.

"Get her out of here," House addressed Chase. When Chase continued to stare, House put some sharpness into his voice and added, "And hands off, dingo breath. He's mine and I've got a certificate to prove it."

Chase shook his head, apparently coming out of a trance, muttered an apology, and ushered Cameron out of the door. House waited for the door to close, and for the sound of them leaving the building, then turned back towards Wilson.

"Lose the towel," House said nonchalantly.

Wilson grinned, and dropped the towel; and House felt himself go weak at the knees. Wilson, stark bollock naked, with the most tremendous erection. Long and hard and red and engorged; even from several feet away House could see the tip glistening with pre-come.

Then Wilson turned around and headed back into the bedroom, and that sight was almost as good--Wilson's ass, gleaming pale in the light, cute and tight as ever, with a slight swagger. House hastened to follow, shrugging his bathrobe off his shoulders as he walked and dropping it on the floor.

In the bedroom, Wilson paused by the bed. House came up behind him, put his arms around and grasped Wilson's cock in both hands. Wilson leaned back into him.

"What do you think you're doing, showing yourself off like that?" House hissed with mock rage.

"It got rid of Cameron, didn't it?" Wilson said innocently, and rubbed his ass back against House's cock.

"Yeah, but Chase couldn't keep his eyes off you. I thought we were going to have to throw him out." House kissed the top of Wilson's head. Wilson's hair felt soft and silky against his chin.

"Ha, ha." Wilson's breathing was rapid. "House, I want to fuck you."

Until a few minutes ago House would have argued that _he_ wanted to top tonight, but the sight of Wilson's erection in the living room had changed his mind; House wanted to feel that enormous, glorious cock inside him. "Fucking right you do."

Wilson nodded towards the bed. "Spoons."

"Jimmy, you sentimental old romantic you," House exclaimed, and although his tone was gruff he knew Wilson had seen the smile flicker across his face. When they'd first met and gotten together, more than twenty years ago, Wilson, a new med student at the bottom of the accommodation pile, had only had a single bed. They'd found it impossible to sleep together in it except like spoons, both on their sides, one with his chest pressed into the other's back. Their first tentative (and not terribly successful) attempts at penetrative sex had grown out of this.

They'd gotten better at it, of course...

House lay down on his side, resting on his bad leg, and Wilson nestled behind him, nibbling at his neck, nuzzling at his shoulder. And then House felt the cold ooze of lube, and the finger probing, easing the way ahead. House raised his good leg a little, moaned and pushed his face into a pillow. He remembered being finger-fucked for the first time by the twenty-one year old James Wilson, not altogether expertly (though not that inexpertly either). And how Wilson had been butting his cock up against House's tailbone and his cock had slipped on the lube, pushing up towards House's ass instead--

Wilson's hard-on drove up inside him in a smooth, practiced movement. _"Hurgh,"_ House let out an exclamation and arched his back. He then forced himself to relax, and the initial rawness was replaced almost immediately by an ecstatic stroking sensation; Wilson's cock, bare and thrusting. They'd abandoned condoms when they'd finally moved in together and committed to each other (and after a flurry of extensive STD tests), and House could still be surprised by the extra sensation this provided sometimes. "Wilson, _Christ_--yes--"

"House," Wilson murmured into the back of his neck. He bit House's ear very gently, then drove in again. House took him easily, this time, all the way. Wilson reached around to wrap a hand around House's cock. The sheer intensity of feeling Wilson's body up against him from both in front and behind temporarily blew House's mind; rendering him unable to think, unaware of anything except being locked between Wilson's bucking groin and Wilson's clenched fist. House was nothing but a shuddering sexual pleasure receptor; completely under Wilson's power, caught between Wilson's cock, thrusting and rocking, and Wilson's fingers, grasping and rolling. Back and forth, slowly, _really _slowly, again and again, for what seemed like forever; and it would, House thought dimly, be forever.

Eventually Wilson increased his bucking movement and the pressure of his fingers; only slightly, but the change had the desired effect; House squeezed his eyes shut and came with a sharp cry, and the brief spasm brought Wilson over the edge too, in an almost simultaneous orgasm.

They both lay panting, still joined although loosely now, and House thought it had been one of the longest drawn-out fucks they'd ever had.

After a few minutes House pulled away slightly, heedless of the sticky mess around them, and turned over to kiss Wilson, who was lying apparently comatose. He encircled Wilson's sweaty body with an arm, and held him tight; Wilson nestled into House's chest. House felt Wilson's nose rub against his nipple.

"I have conjugal rights to all this?" House murmured in Wilson's ear.

"You do. But then, you always did," Wilson mumbled back.

They slept away the rest of their wedding night like that, entwined and comfortable.


	7. The Honeymoon

**The House/Wilson Honeymoon**

Check-In Girl arrived back at her desk from her coffee break to find a tall gaunt man leaning on the counter. He was wearing sunglasses and a brightly colored T-shirt, and looked like he hadn't shaved in a week. Two passports and two plane tickets lay next to his hand. She glanced at the one on top and read the name: _Dr. Gregory House_.

"Good afternoon, Dr. House," she said cheerfully, putting on her professional welcoming smile. "And where are you off to today?"

He flashed a brilliant white grin at her. "On my honeymoon," he said, with some pride.

"Congratulations!" she said, thinking he certainly wasn't the average honeymooner. Honeymoon couples were usually younger, for a start. 'Course, he might just be lying to try and wrangle an upgrade--but she could see on his ticket he was already traveling business class. She also noticed it said _wheelchair assistance_. Two reasons to give him a break, then.

"I'll make a note: complimentary champagne all the way for the newlyweds. And where is your lovely wife?"

House's toothy grin became an enormous smirk as he replied, "_He_'s right here."

And a man with floppy hair and big brown eyes popped up next to House from behind the counter.

"Hi," he said to her, and then turned to address House. "House, next time we fly _anywhere_ we are packing your cane before we leave home and not at the damn airport. I only just managed to get it in your case." He dropped a large suitcase on the conveyer belt.

"Hi," she replied weakly, knowing shock and surprise had broken through her professional smile, and that House had seen it. She picked up the second plane ticket and looked at the name.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Wilson. Um--" She wasn't quite sure how to go on. Was this honeymoon thing a joke? Dr. House having her on, and now she should laugh? Or was it real? God, you just couldn't tell these days.

House read her confusion, and answered it by looping an arm around Dr. Wilson's shoulders.

"We got married last week. I have the civil union certificate right here." He reached into his inside jacket pocket with his other hand and plucked out a clean white envelope. "Wanna see?"

Afterwards Check-In Girl wished she'd waved it away. But at the time she found herself grasping for certainty; she took the envelope and looked inside. She removed a neatly folded certificate and read it. Goddamn, it was true. Civil union in the state of New Jersey, Gregory House and James Wilson, dated the previous Saturday week. She blushed at herself for having doubted--what _would_ her gay friends say when she told them?

House was watching her with hugely amused eyes: Wilson was looking at House with a faint air of exasperation, mixed with clear affection. She watched Wilson reach up and touch House's hand resting on his shoulder. Wilson was cute. Actually, they were cute together.

She realized to her horror that she was gawking at them, and hastened to pull herself together. She moved into professional mode, smoothly processing their check-in, and having a wheelchair fetched for House. With his cane now packed away, it appeared that only the counter was propping him up.

Check-In Girl watched Wilson wheel House away, and then she had a message sent on to the cabin crew. _Honeymoon couple aboard, in seats A1 and A2, complimentary champagne to be supplied_. She omitted any mention of gender.

* * *

House leaned back into his business-class seat, closed his eyes and said, "You know what we should've done? Booked economy class and sweet-talked ourselves an upgrade for the honeymoon thing. We could've saved a fortune."

"Not a risk worth taking," Wilson opined, glancing at House's leg.

"I know going on honeymoon isn't a novelty for you, but it's the first time for me," House protested. "This is the _only_ time I'm ever going on honeymoon and I'm damn well going to milk it for all it's worth."

Wilson snorted and settled more comfortably into his own chair. "House, I _know_ you and Stacy pretended you were on your honeymoon that time you went to San Francisco, and bagged an upgrade."

He paused, belatedly noticing what House had said; _This is the only time I'm ever going on honeymoon._ Touched, he added lightly, "Last time I'm ever going on honeymoon, too."

A flight attendant appeared with a bottle of champagne, reading a note. She glanced at them and then at their seat numbers.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," she said. "I think one of you may be in the wrong seat."

House opened his eyes and turned his head to look at her, his blue eyes flashing with indignation. Sensing a blast of umbrage on the way, Wilson jumped in hastily. "No, we're in the right seats. We're--um--together."

She recovered quickly, apologized, and left them with the champagne. Wilson clinked glasses with House, who was still frowning.

"C'mon, House. And be nice to the flight attendants."

"Just because you've never traveled on a plane without hitting on a flight attendant before," House grumbled. "Guess being marked out as a newlywed will cramp your style a bit."

Wilson knew there wasn't anything behind this. He reached out and squeezed House's hand on the chair arm between them.

* * *

Wilson paid off the cab and walked into the hotel just in time to see the receptionist hand House a large key and hear her say, "...honeymoon suite. Best views in the hotel. Four-poster bed and a double bath. Complimentary champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries. And breakfast in bed."

"I _love_ chocolate-covered strawberries," House said enthusiastically.

"Your wife'll love our health spa club, too," the receptionist carried on brightly. "Massages, manicures, facials..."

House glanced around and saw Wilson approaching. "Well... he _does_ use toenail polish."

"And _you_ curl your hair," Wilson riposted, and smiled sweetly at the receptionist, whose face had frozen. "What's left of it, that is. Hi. I'm James Wilson."

"My better half," House said, and pulled Wilson towards him for a huge kiss on the lips.

Wilson was faintly embarrassed but went along with it. By the time House released him (probably not more than a few seconds later, though it felt longer) the receptionist had recovered her poise and started to twitter about the hotel's other amenities.

"And there's lots to do in the surrounding area, too..."

"Don't think we'll have much time for that sort of thing. We are newlyweds, after all," House said, beaming. "Guess we'll be spending most of our time in bed."

Wilson dug House in the ribs, but couldn't help but smile.

"Especially because of course we've been following the advice of our political leaders," House went on. "We've known each other more than twenty years, but believing fully that abstinence makes the heart grow fonder, we've been waiting until we could get married until we f--_OW_!"

"Thank-you so much," Wilson said to the receptionist, as he hauled House off towards the elevator.

* * *

Wilson was standing at the wide balcony doors, admiring the tremendous sea view and the delicate spray of orchids on the window shelf, when House walked through from the bedroom and said, "I want my money back."

"Speck of dust on the iPod speakers?" Wilson asked. "Thread count on the Egyptian-cotton sheets not high enough?" He turned and popped a chocolate-covered strawberry into House's mouth.

"The previous occupant of this suite must've had some sort of terrible skin disease," House said, munching strawberry. "There's bits sloughed off all over the bed, and a very strange smell."

House was obviously kidding, but Wilson couldn't fathom what he might be talking about. Curious, Wilson went into the bedroom and roared with laughter.

"House, those are _rose petals_."

They were scattered across the bedcover in a broad arc. Wilson sat down on the bed and picked up a handful. Delicate red, white and pink petals floated through his fingers.

"And here was I about to perform a differential diagnosis on them." House sat next to him and proffered a chocolate-covered strawberry. Wilson took it, put the tapered end in his mouth and sucked at the chocolate.

House watched, his blue eyes darkening. "I think you could be sucking on better things than strawberries."

* * *

Room Service Guy stopped the trolley outside the honeymoon suite and glanced at the order sheet. _Dr. House and Dr. Wilson._ These modern couples, keeping their names. Mind you, the two of them both doctors, probably established in professional careers, no surprise really if they wanted to keep their professional names. Pizza was an unusual choice of first night dinner--honeymooners usually went for the oysters, in his experience--but then it was late. More of a late night snack than a dinner by now.

He knocked, and a minute later a man wearing a hotel-issue fluffy white bathrobe opened the door. He had bare feet, mussed-up hair and glazed brown eyes. Room Service Guy would have bet anything that he'd just had sex. These newlyweds, honestly, they couldn't keep their hands off each other.

Room Service Guy pushed the trolley into the room and the disheveled man signed the slip; _James Wilson_.

Room Service Guy took the slip, pointed towards an envelope marked _Dr. House_ sitting on the trolley next to the food, and said, "There's a phone message for your wife, too."

Dr. Wilson looked at him, and a smile curved up the side of his mouth.

"I'll make sure _he_ gets it," Dr. Wilson said, and ushered the stunned Room Service Guy out of the room.

END


End file.
